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THE LIFE OF 
MRS. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 




Fanny Van de Grift Stevenson during the English period 



THE LIFE OF 
MRS. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 



BY 
NELLIE VAN DE GRIFT SANCHEZ 



ILLUSTRATED 



NEW YORK 
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1920 






COPTRIOHT, 1920, BT 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 



Published February, 1920 



FEB 2U 1920 




OU.A56i9 44 






TO 

ISOBEL FIELD 

IN TOKEN OF OUR COMMON LOVE FOR 

HER WHOSE LIFE STORY IS TOLD IN ITS PAGES 

THIS BOOK 

IS ATFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 



PREFACE 

When I first set out to tell the life story of Mrs. 
Robert Louis Stevenson, I received the following let- 
ter from her old friend Mr. Bruce Porter: 

"Once when I urged your sister to set down the 
incidents of her life she listened, pondered, and then 
dismissed the suggestion as impossible, as her life 
had been like a dazed rush on a railroad express, and 
she despaired of recovering the incidental memories. 
The years with Stevenson have of course been ade- 
quately told, but the earlier period — Indianapolis and 
California — had a romance as stirring, even if sharp- 
ened by the American glare. This sharpness has al- 
ready, for all of us, begun to fade, to take on the 
glamour of time and distance, and I cannot think of 
a better literary service than to make the fullest pos- 
sible record now, before it utterly fades away." 

It was not only the difficulty of recalling events 
that caused her to resist all urgings to undertake this 
task, but a certain shy reluctance in speaking of her- 
self that was characteristic of her. It has, therefore, 
fallen to me to collect the widely scattered material 
from various parts of the world and weave it into a 
coherent whole as best I may, but my regret will 
never cease that she did not herself tell her own story. 

It would take a more competent pen than mine 
to do her justice; but whoever reads this book from 



viii PREFACE 

cover to cover will surely agree that no woman ever 
had a life of more varied experiences nor went through 
them all with a stauncher courage. 

It is right that I should acknowledge here my pro- 
found obligation to the kind friends who have gen- 
erously placed their personal recollections at my 
disposal. These are more definitely referred to in 
the body of the book. Aside from these personal 
contributions, the main sources of material have been 
as follows: 

Ancestral genealogies, including The Descendants of 
J or an Kyn, by Doctor Gregory B. Keen, secretary of 
the Pennsylvania Historical Society. 

Data concerning the genealogy of the Keen and 
Van de Grift families collected by Frederic Thomas, 
of New York, nephew of Mrs. Stevenson. 

Notes covering the life of Mrs. Stevenson up to the 
age of sixteen years, as dictated by herself. 

A collection of her own letters to friends and rela- 
tives. 

Letters to Mrs. Stevenson from friends. 

Extracts from various books and magazines, in- 
cluding The Letters of Mrs. M. I. Stevenson (Methuen 
and Company, London); The Life of Robert Louis 
Stevenson, by Graham Balfour; The Letters of Robert 
Louis Stevenson, edited by Sidney Colvin; Vailima 
Memories, by Lloyd Osbourne and Isobel Osbourne 
Strong, now Mrs. Salisbury Field; The Cruise of the 
Janet Nichol, by Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson; 
McClure's, Scribner's, and the Century magazines. 
Acknowledgment is due the publishers of the above 
books and periodicals for their courteous permissions. 



PREFACE XX 

A diary kept by Mrs. Stevenson of her life in 
Samoa, for which I am indebted to the considerate 
kindness of Miss Gladys Peacock, an English lady, 
into whose hands the diary fell by accident. 

My own personal recollections. 

Above all, I wish to express my heartfelt gratitude 
to Mrs. Stevenson's daughter, Isobel Field, without 
whose unflagging zeal in forwarding the work it could 
scarcely have been carried to a successful conclusion, 
and to my son, Louis A. Sanchez, for valuable assis- 
tance in the actual writing of the book. 

N. V. S. 

Beekelet, California, January, 1919. 



CONTENTS 

I. Ancestors 1 

II. Earlt Days in Indiana 9 

III. On the Pacific Slope 26 

IV. France, and the Meeting at Grez 42 

V. In California with Robert Louis Stevenson . 55 

"VT. Europe and ■ he British Isles 82 

VII. Away to Sunnier Lands 124 

VIII. The Happy Years in Samoa 167 

IX. The Lonely Days of Widowhood 226 

X. Back to California 260 

XI. Travels in Mexico and Europe 279 

XII. The Last Days at Santa Barbara 297 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Fanny Van de Grift Stevenson during the English period 

Frontispiece 

FACINO PAOB 

John Keen, about 83 years of age, maternal great-grand- 
father of Fanny Van de Grift Stevenson 2 

Jacob Van de Grift, about 56 years of age, father of Fanny 

Van de Grift Stevenson 6 

The Van de Grift residence at the corner of Illinois and 

Washington Streets, Indianapolis 22 ' 

The bridge at Grez 46^- 

Fanny Osbourne at about the time of her first meeting with 

Robert Louis Stevenson 48 

Robert Louis Stevenson in the French days 50' 

Fanny Osbourne at the time of her marriage to Robert 

Louis Stevenson 78 ' ' 

The house at Vailima with the additions made to the first 

structure 194 "^ 

Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson 262-' 

The house at Hyde and Lombard Streets, San Francisco, 
with some alterations in the way of bay windows, etc., 
which have been made since Mrs. Stevenson sold it . . 266 '^ 

The house at Vanumanutagi ranch 274^ 

Stonehedge at Santa Barbara 298 

The last portrait of Mrs. Stevenson 306^ 

The funeral procession as it wound up the hill 332 " 

The tomb, showing the bronze tablet with the verse from 

Stevenson's poem to his wife 336 



THE LIFE OF 
MRS. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 

CHAPTER I 

ANCESTORS 

To arrive at a full understanding of the complex 
and unusual character of Fanny Van de Grift Steven- 
son, which perhaps played as large a part as her 
beauty and intellectual charm in drawing to her the 
affections of one of the greatest romance writers of 
our day, one must go back and seek out all the un- 
common influences that combined to produce it — a 
long line of sturdy ancestors, running back to the 
first adventurers who left their sheltered European 
homes and sailed across the sea to try their fortunes 
in a wild, unknown land; her childhood days spent 
among the hardy surroundings of pioneer Indiana, 
with its hints of a past tropical age and its faint 
breath of Indian reminiscence; the early breaking of 
her own family ties and her fearless adventuring by 
way of the Isthmus of Panama to the distant land of 
gold, and her brave struggle against adverse circum- 
stances in the mining camps of Nevada. All these 
prenatal influences and personal experiences, so for- 
eign to the protected lives of the women of Steven- 
son's own race, threw about her an atmosphere of 

1 



2 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

thrilling New World romance that appealed with ir- 
resistible force to the man who was himself Romance 
personified. 

Fanny Stevenson was a lineal descendant of two of 
the oldest families in the United States, her first 
ancestors landing in this country in the early part of 
the seventeenth century. In 1642 Joran Kyn, called 
"The Snow White,'* reached America in the ship 
Fama as a member of the life-guard of John Printz, 
governor of the Swedish colony established in the 
New World by King Gustavus Adolphus. He took 
up a large tract of land and was living in peace and 
comfort on the Delaware River when William Penn 
landed in America. He was the progenitor of eleven 
generations of descendants born on American soil. 
His memory is embalmed in an old document still 
extant as "a man who never irritated even a child." 

In the list of his descendants one Matthias stands 
out as "a tall handsome man, with a very melodious 
voice which could be intelligibly heard at times across 
the Delaware." 

A later descendant, John Keen, born in 1747, fought 
and shed his blood in the war of American Indepen- 
dence, having been wounded in the battle of Prince- 
ton while in the act of delivering a message to General 
Washington. It was he who married Mildred Cook, 
daughter of James Cook, an English sea-captain who 
commanded the London Packet, plying between Lon- 
don and New York. Family tradition has it that he 
was a near relative of Captain Cook of South Sea 
fame. When Fanny Stevenson went a-sailing in the 
South Seas, following in the track of the great ex- 




John Keen, about 83 years of age, maternal great-grandfather of 
Fanny Van de Grift Stevenson 



ANCESTORS 3 

plorer, she boldly claimed this kinship, and, much to 
her delight, was immediately christened Tappeni Too- 
too, which was as near as the natives could come to 
Captain Cook's name. 

We have a charming old-fashioned silhouette por- 
trait in our family of a lovely young creature with a 
dainty profile and curls gathered in a knot. It is 
"sweet Kitty Weaver," who married John Cook 
Keen, son of the Revolutionary hero, and became 
the grandpiother of Fanny Stevenson. Little Fanny, 
when on a visit to Philadelphia in her childhood 
days, was shown a pair of red satin slippers worn by 
this lady, and was no doubt given a lecture on the 
folly of vanity, for it was by walking over the snow 
to her carriage in the little red slippers that sweet 
Kitty Weaver caught the cold which caused her 
death. 

Our mother, Esther Thomas Keen, one of John and 
Kitty Keen's six children, was born in Philadelphia, 
December 3, 1811. She was described by one who 
knew her in her youth as "a little beauty of the dark 
vivid type, with perfectly regular features, black 
startled eyes, and quantities of red-brown curls just 
the color of a cherry wood sideboard that stood in 
her house.'* She was a tiny creature, under five feet 
in height, and never in her life weighed more than 
ninety pounds; but in spite of that she was exceed- 
ingly strong, swift in her movements, straight as an 
arrow to the end of her days, and always went leaping 
up the stairs, even when she was over eighty. Fear 
was absolutely unknown to her. She once caught 
a mad dog and held its mouth shut with her hands. 



4 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

protecting her children till help came. She was re- 
sourceful in emergency, whether it was sickness or 
accident, and never lost her presence of mind. She 
had a tender sympathy for animals and all weak, suf- 
fering, and young creatures, and it could be truth- 
fully said of her, as of Joran Kyn, her ancestor, that 
she "never irritated even a child." Her daughter 
Fanny said of her: "I never heard my mother speak 
an angry word, no matter what the provocation, and 
she was the mother of seven children. No matter 
what the offense might be she always found an 
excuse." In this she was like the old Scotch woman 
who, when told she would find something to praise 
even in the devil, said: "Weel, there's nae denyin* 
he's a verra indoostrious body." 

It was from our little mother that my sister Fanny 
inherited her vivid dark beauty, her reticence, her 
fortitude in suffering, her fearlessness in the presence 
of danger, and her unfailing resourcefulness. 

Jacob Leendertsen Van de Grift, the first paternal 
ancestor of whom we have any record, settled in 
Bucks County, Pennsylvania, towards the close of 
the seventeenth century. The graves of several of 
his descendants are still to be seen in the fine old 
cemetery at Andalusia, and upon the tombstone of 
one of them is this epitaph: 

"Farewell my friends and wife so dear, 
I am not dead but sleeping here. 
My debts are paid, my grave you see.'* 

This name has descended in an unbroken line from 
Jacob Leendertsen Van de Grift, of New Amsterdam, 



ANCESTORS 5 

through eleven generations, to the brother of Fanny 
Stevenson, Jacob Van de Grift, of Riverside, Cali- 
fornia. 

John Miller, a paternal great-grandfather of ours, 
was also Dutch. The family account of him is that 
he fought at Brandywine, crossed the Delaware with 
Washington, was wounded at the battle of Trenton, 
and that when he died, at the age of eighty-four 
years, the city of Philadelphia paid him the tribute 
of burial with military honours. 

Miller married twice, and it was Elizabeth, a daugh- 
ter by his second wife, who married a Jacob Van de 
Grift. 

Her son, Jacob Van de Grift, was born in Philadel- 
phia in 1816. Upon the early death of her first hus- 
band she married again, presenting to her children 
the cruel stepfather of fiction. Indeed, the story of 
our father's childhood and youth and the adventures 
of his brothers and sisters reads more like melodrama 
than sober fact. One brother, Harry, wandering 
disconsolate in the market-place, was carried off by 
a kind and wealthy Kentuckian, who took a fancy to 
the handsome boy and brought him up as his own 
son. Matilda, the beauty of the family, seeing a 
peaceful Quaker couple sitting by a window, was so 
struck by the contrast between their gentle lives and 
her own that she went into the house and asked to 
be allowed to stay with them. The kind-hearted 
people were so touched by her distress and beauty 
that they adopted her as their own. Little Jacob, 
encouraged by the success of his brother and sister, 
ran away on his own account, but fell into evil hands. 



6 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

and was beaten and ill-used until rescued by his 
beautiful sister Matilda. Fortunately for Jacob, he 
found favour in the sight of Grandfather Miller, who 
educated him, dressed him well, and gave him a good 
allowance. At this time there was an outbreak of 
small riots in Philadelphia, caused by roughs attack- 
ing the Quakers. The "shadbellies," as they were 
derisively called, did not fight back, which made the 
sport all the more alluring to the cowardly rioters. 
Young Van de Grift, who was an excellent amateur 
boxer, joined in these frays with enthusiasm in de- 
fense of the Quakers. It was not only his fine Ameri- 
can spirit of fair play that urged him into these fights, 
but he felt a deep gratitude to the Quakers all his life 
on account of his sister Matilda. Strangely enough. 
Grandfather Miller disapproved of young Van de 
Grift's conduct. He scolded and fumed, and when, 
early one morning, his grandson was found on his 
door-step beaten black and blue, the unreasonable old 
man, utterly losing sight of the chivalric cause, sent 
the troublesome lad away — to the farthest place, in 
fact, that he could reach. This place turned out to 
be the frontier backwoods town of Indianapolis, In- 
diana. 

Here Jacob's attention was soon attracted by a 
pretty young woman, a tiny, dainty creature named 
Esther Keen (our mother, whom I have already de- 
scribed), who was on a visit to her sister. The rec- 
ords show that they were married in Philadelphia in 
1837. 

Like many another irresponsible young man, Jacob 
Van de Grift married became quite a different per- 




Jacob Van de Grift, about 56 years of age, father of Fanny 
Van de Grift Stevenson 



ANCESTORS 7 

son. Returning to Indianapolis, he built a house for 
himself with the aid of friends, and, launching out 
into the lumber business, soon became one of the 
prosperous and solid citizens of the place. His house 
was on the "Circle," next door to Henry Ward 
Beecher's church. This was Mr. Beecher's first pas- 
torate, and between him and his neighbour a warm 
friendship sprang up. In after years, when Beecher 
had become a national figure and scandal attacked 
his name, the friend of his youth, Jacob Van de Grift, 
clung loyally to his faith in his old pastor and firmly 
refused to believe any of the charges against him. 

The little house on the Circle was made into a 
pleasant home partly by furniture sent by Jacob's 
mother from Philadelphia, partly by articles made 
by himself, for he had served a short apprenticeship 
at cabinet-making while living in his grandfather's 
house. Among other pieces of furniture made by 
him was the cradle in which Fanny Van de Grift was 
rocked. As long as she lived she never forgot just 
how this cradle looked. 

Jacob Van de Grift, father of Fanny Van de Grift 
Stevenson, was a fine-looking man, broad-shouldered 
and deep-chested, slightly above medium height, blue- 
eyed, black-haired, and with the regular features and 
rosy complexion of his Dutch ancestors. One par- 
ticularly noticed the extraordinarily keen expression 
of his eyes, which seemed to pin you to the wall when 
he looked at you. This penetrating glance was in- 
herited by his daughter Fanny, and was often re- 
marked upon by those who met her. He made money 
easily but spent it royally, and, in consequence, died 



8 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

comparatively poor. He had a hasty temper but a 
generous heart, and while his hand was always open 
to the poor and unhappy, it was a closed fist ready to 
strike straight from the shoulder to resent an insult 
or defend the oppressed. Like his ancestor of the 
Andalusia cemetery, he could not endure to owe any 
man a debt. It was from our father that my sister 
Fanny inherited her broad and tolerant outlook on 
life, her hatred of injustice and cruelty, her punctili- 
ousness in money matters, and her steadfast loyalty 
to friends. 



CHAPTER II 
EARLY DAYS IN INDIANA 

When Jacob Van de Grift arrived in Indianapolis 
in 1836 the first rawness of frontier life had passed 
away, and many of the comforts of civilization had 
made their way out from the East or up from New 
Orleans. When he married Esther Keen he took 
her to live in the little red house, which, as I have 
already said, he had built next door to Henry Ward 
Beecher's church, opposite the Governor's Circle. 
Seven children in all were granted to them, of whom 
the eldest, a daughter, was born on March 10, 1840, 
in this same little red house on the Circle. When the 
infant was two years old she and her mother were 
taken into the Second Presbyterian Church, and were 
baptized by Henry Ward Beecher in the White River, 
in the presence of a concourse of several thousand 
spectators. The record of this noteworthy occasion 
is still preserved in the church at Indianapolis. 

The little girl was named Frances Matilda, but 
when she grew older the second name was finally 
dropped. To her family and friends she was known 
as "Fanny." 

The main source, in fact almost the only one, from 
which I have been able to draw a description of the 
childhood of Fanny Stevenson is an article on early 
reminiscences written by my sister herself, which was 

9 



10 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

found among her papers after her death. As she was 
always her own worst critic, she has dwelt on mis- 
chievous childish escapades and has said little of the 
sweetness and charm and warm generosity that even 
then drew all hearts to her. From this article, called 
A Backwoods Childhood, I quote the following extracts 
for the sake of the vivid picture they give of those 
Indiana days: 

"Our life in the backwoods was simple and natural; 
we had few luxuries, but we had few cares. In our 
kitchen gardens potatoes, cabbages, onions, toma- 
toes, Indian corn, and numerous other vegetables 
grew most luxuriantly; and of fruits we had great 
abundance. We lived a natural life and were con- 
tent. The loom and the spinning-wheel, though 
they had by this time largely disappeared from the 
towns, still had a place in every farmhouse. We 
raised our own food and made our own clothing, often 
of the linsey-woolsey woven by the women on their 
home-made looms. We breakfasted by the light of a 
tin lamp fed with lard, four o'clock being a not un- 
usual hour, dined at noon, supped at five, and went 
to bed with the chickens. Our carpets were made of 
our old cast-off garments torn into strips, the strips 
then sewn together at the ends and woven into carpet 
breadths by a neighbor, who took her pay in kind. 
Wheat broken and steeped in water gave a fine white 
starch fit for cooking as well as laundry work. We 
tapped the maple tree for sugar, and drank our sassa- 
fras tea with relish. The virgin forest furnished us 
with a variety of nuts and berries and wild fruits, to 
say nothing of more beautiful wild flowers than I have 



EARLY DAYS IN INDIANA 11 

seen in any other part of the world, and, laid up in 
the trunks of hollow trees, were rich stores of wild 
honey. 

"Except for ague we had little sickness, and for 
ordinary ailments healing herbs waited everywhere 
for seeing eyes. These were calamus, bloodroot, 
snakeroot, slippery elm, tansy, and scores that I do 
not remember the names of. There was sumach for 
tanning and butternut for dyeing; hickory wood for 
our fires and hard black walnut for our house-building 
and fences. Everything that we needed for comfort 
or health was within reach of our hands. Nor in this 
wholesome simple life were the arts forgotten. Among 
us lived a poetess who is quoted wherever English is 
spoken.* Theatricals were cultivated, and my father 
belonged to a Thespian society. We had good paint- 
ers, too, and at this moment there hangs before me 
my father's portrait at the age of twenty, done by 
Cox of Indianapolis, which has been praised and 
admired by both French and English artists of repu- 
tation. 

"When we made maple sugar there were the great 
fires built out-of-doors with logs that needed the 
strength of two men to carry; the bubbling cauldrons, 
and the gay company of neighbors come to help; the 
camp where the work went on all night to the sound 
of laughter and song. 

"And the woods, traversed by cool streams, where 
wild vines clambering from tree to tree made bowers 
fit for any fairy queen — what a place of enchantment 

* Sarah Tittle Bolton, known for her patriotic and war songs, among 
them "Paddle Your Own Canoe" and "Left on the Battlefield." 



n LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

for a child ! There were may apples to be gathered 
and buried to ripen, and as you turned up the earth 
there was always the chance that you might find a 
flint arrowhead. 

"Then, too, there were shell barks, hickory nuts, 
walnuts, and butternuts to be gathered, husked and 
dried, an operation which produced every fall a sud- 
den eruption of the society of the 'Black Hand' 
among the boys and girls. Haw apples, elderberries, 
wild gooseberries, blackberries, and raspberries pro- 
vided variety of refreshment. Or you might, as I 
often did, gather the wild grapes from over your head, 
press them in your hands, catch the juice in the neck 
of a dried calabash, and toss off the blood-red wine. 
With my romantic notions, imbibed from my read- 
ing, I always called it the blood-red wine, though it 
was in reality a rather muddy looking gray-colored 
liquid with the musky flavor peculiar to wild grapes. 
This wild dissipation I felt compelled to abandon 
after I joined a temperance society and wore a tinsel 
star on my breast. 

"Through the little hamlet where I was born ran, 
like a great artery, the National Road. Starting in 
the far East, it crossed the continent, looked in on us 
rustics, and finally lost itself in the wilds of Illinois. 
Though we lay on the banks of a romantic river, and 
a canal, a branch of the Erie, languidly crawled beside 
us, breathing fever and ague as it passed, the Road 
was our only real means of communication with the 
outside world. The river, though of a good breadth, 
had too many shoals and rapids to be navigable; and 
though now and then boats crept along by the tow- 



EARLY DAYS IN INDIANA 13 

path of the canal, I never heard that they landed or 
received any produce. The streets of Indianapolis 
had no names then; it was too lost a place for that, 
and we just said the 'main street.' This was after- 
wards called Washington Street, and was really a 
part of the National Road. Oh but that was roman- 
tic to me, leading as it did straight out into the 
wide, wide world ! At certain intervals, about once 
in two weeks, the weather and the state of the road 
allowing, a lumbering vehicle called a 'mud wagon' 
left for regions unknown to me with passengers and 
freight. I don't know where it came from, but on 
its return it brought letters to my father from his 
mother, who lived in Philadelphia. 

"Sometimes bands of Indians, wrapped in blan- 
kets, came through the town. They seemed friendly 
enough and no one showed any fear of them. 

"We little girls wore pantalettes, to our ankles, and 
our dresses were whale-boned down the front, with 
very long bodices. We had wide flat hats trimmed 
with wreaths of roses and tied under our chins. We 
wore low necks and short sleeves summer and winter. 
I was thin but very tough. My Aunt Knodle* made 
long mittens for me out of nankeen beautifully em- 
broidered; they came up to my shoulders, and were 
sewn on every day to keep me from spoiling my 
hands. My hair was braided in front and my every- 
day gingham sunbonnet sewn to my hair. This was 
done in the vain hope of keeping off sunburn, for I 
was dark, like my mother, and my complexion was 

* The "k" is silent in this name. Elizabeth Knodle was the elder sister 
of Esther Van de Grift. 



14 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

the despair of her hfe. Beauty of the fair blonde 
type was in vogue then, so that I was quite out of 
fashion. It was thought that if one was dark one 
had a wicked temper." 

In reahty, Fanny, with her clear olive skin, her 
bright black eyes, her perfectly regular features, and 
mass of half-curling dark hair, was the prettiest in 
the family; but the dictates of fashion are imperious, 
so her mother put lotions on her face and her grand- 
mother washed it with strong soap, saying: "She is 
that color by nature — God made her ugly." The 
little girl asked rather pathetically if they would not 
change her name to Lily, to which her mother replied: 
"You are a little tiger lily!" In after years in her 
many gardens in different parts of the world there 
were always tiger lilies growing. She was a high- 
spirited, daring creature, a little flashing firefly of a 
child, eagerly seeking for adventure, that might have 
brought upon her frequent punishment were it not 
that her parents held exceedingly liberal views in 
such matters. About this she says: 

"Henry Ward Beecher and my father were great 
friends, and used to discuss very earnestly the proper 
method of bringing up children. At that time it was 
the custom to be extremely severe with youth, and 
such axioms as 'spare the rod and spoil the child,' 
*to be seen and not heard,' were popular; so that the 
views held by Mr. Beecher and my father were de- 
cidedly modern. They argued that if a child was 
bad by nature it would grow up bad, and that if it 
was good it would grow up good, and that it was 
best not to interfere with the development of chil- 



EARLY DAYS IN INDIANA 15 

dren's characters, but to allow them to have their 
own way." 

As Esther Van de Grift limited her corrections of 
her children to an occasional mild remonstrance, they 
worked out their own individualities with little inter- 
ference. Fanny was what the children called a "tom- 
boy," and always preferred the boys' sports, the more 
daring the better. She roamed the woods with her 
cousin Tom Van de Grift, and the two kindred wild 
spirits climbed trees, forded streams up to their necks, 
did everything, in fact, that the most adventurous 
boy could think of. School was a secondary affair 
then, and, except for drawing and painting, in which 
she was thought to have a remarkable talent, Fanny 
paid little attention to her studies. 

When she was a little girl she was caught in the 
wave of a great temperance revival which was sweep- 
ing over the country, and, in her enthusiasm to aid 
in the work, she produced two drawings that caused 
a sensation. One, representing a rickety house with 
broken windows, a crooked weed-grown path leading 
up to a gate fallen off the hinges, and a fence with 
haM the pickets off, she labelled "The Drunkard's 
Home." Then she drew a companion picture of a 
neat farmhouse with a straight path, and fence and 
gate all in apple-pie order, which she called "The 
Reformed Drunkard's Home." These two drawings 
she presented at a public meeting to Doctor Thomp- 
son, the leader of the movement. Fifty years after- 
wards she met Mrs. Thompson, who said she still 
had the pictures and thought them "very beauti- 
ful." 



16 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

In spite of her indifference to study she was very 
precocious, and learned to read at what was consid- 
ered by her parents' friends as an objectionably early 
age. Her father was very proud of the accomplish- 
ments of his little daughter, and liked to show her 
off before his friends, who, to speak the truth, looked 
with extreme disfavour upon the performance. Once 
Mr. Page Chapman, editor of a newspaper, put her 
through an examination on some subjects about 
which she had been reading in Familiar Science, a 
work arranged in the form of questions and answers. 
He asked: "What is the shape of the world?" 
"Round," she replied. "Then why don't we fall 
off.''" he asked, and she answered: "Because of the 
attraction of gravitation." "This is awful," he said, 
in horror at such precocity. 

Her father had a taste for verse, and often when 
walking with his children would recite a favourite 
poem, more, evidently, for his own amusement than 
theirs. Of this Fanny writes: "He used to declaim 
so often, in a loud, solemn voice, 'My name is Norval 
— on the Grampian Hills my father feeds his flocks,* 
that I naturally received the impression that these 
flocks and hills were part of my paternal grandfather's 
estate. Years afterwards when I was traveling in 
Scotland and asked the name of some hills I saw in 
the distance, I felt a mental shock when told they 
were the Grampian Hills." 

As I have said before, there was no discipline in the 
Van de Grift household, and though the neighbours 
predicted dire results from such a method of bringing 
up a family, one result, at least, was that every one 



EARLY DAYS IN INDIANA 17 

of Jacob Van de Grift's children adored him, and 
none more whole-heartedly than his eldest born. 
She writes of him : 

"My father was a splendid horseman and excelled 
in all athletic things. He had such immense shoulders 
and such a deep chest, though his hands and feet 
were remarkably small. I can remember when he 
and I would go out to a vacant lot that he owned 
near Indianapolis and I would sit on the fence and 
watch him ride and perform circus tricks on horse- 
back, riding around in a circle. Though his hands 
were so small and fair, with rosy palms and delicately 
pointed fingers, they were strong hands and capable, 
for they fashioned the cradle my mother rocked me 
in, and the chest of drawers made of maple-wood 
stained to imitate mahogany, where she stored my 
baby linen with those old-fashioned herbs, ambrosia 
and sweet basil. Years ago the cradle was passed 
on to a neighbor who needed it more than we, but the 
chest of drawers is still in use, a sound and very ser- 
viceable piece of furniture, good for several genera- 
tions more. It was an eventful day in my childhood 
when, perched on a high chair, I was allowed to ex- 
plore the mysteries of the top drawer and hold in 
my own hands the trinkets, ear-rings, brooches, and 
fine laces worn by my mother in her youth, but now 
laid aside as useless in this new, strange, and busy 
life of the backwoods. There, too, were pieces of my 
maternal grandmother's (Kitty Weaver's) gowns, 
satin that shimmered and changed from purple to 
gold, 'stiff enough,' as my mother said, *to stand 
alone,' and my great-grandfather Miller's tortoise- 



18 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

shell snuff-box containing a tonquin bean that had 
not yet lost its peculiar fragrance. 

"While I gazed reverently on these treasures, the 
tale of Kitty Weaver's death, which I already knew 
by heart, was told me once again. She was a beauty 
and loved gaiety, and got her death by going to a 
ball in thin slippers. I supposed, in my childish igno- 
rance, that this radiant creature went about all day 
long in shining silks that stood alone, and never by 
any chance wore other than red satin slippers. My 
paternal grandmother, Elizabeth Miller, sniffed a lit- 
tle at my enthusiasm, and averred that she, too, in 
her time, had worn silks that stood alone and slippers 
of a much smaller size than those of Kitty Weaver. 
But when I looked at my grandmother, with her 
high hooked nose, her large black-browed blue eyes, 
as keen as swords, the haughty outline of her curved 
lips, her massive shoulders and deep chest, her domi- 
neering expression, and listened to her imperious 
voice, doubts assailed me. I could believe that she 
had led an army of amazons in cuirass and buckler, 
but my imagination refused to picture her in a silken 
train smiling at gallants from behind her fan; and 
surely, I thought, no one in the whole world ever 
went tripping to a ball in such strange and monstrous 
headgear as she wore. Yet she had been a notable 
beauty in her day, and even in her old age was still 
something of a coquette. 

"It was sometimes my privilege to sleep with my 
grandmother, and I felt it to be a great one, for she 
was the best teller of stories I ever heard. Her relig- 
ion was of the most terrible kind — the old-fashioned 



EARLY DAYS IN INDIANA 19 

Presbyterianism which taught that hell was paved 
with infants' souls, and such horrors. She always 
said, when she heard of the death of a young child, 
that the chances were it would become a little angel, 
which it would not have done if it had lived to be a 
little older. I was shocked to hear my mother say 
she preferred having her children little living devils 
rather than dead angels. After prayers, all about 
hell and damnation, which she said aloud, I was put 
to bed against the wall. The bedstead, a big mahog- 
any four-poster, had to be mounted like an omnibus. 
That, and the feather bed, and the mattress stuffed 
with the 'best curled hair,' were presents sent to my 
father from Philadelphia, and were a great source of 
pride to me, especially the mattress, which I believed 
to be stuffed with beautiful human curls. 

"From my nest in the feather bed I watched my 
grandmother disrobe with growing terror. First she 
unpinned and folded away a white kerchief she always 
wore primly crossed over her bosom. Then she re- 
moved a white lace cap that was tied under her chin 
with ribbons; then she took off what I supposed to be 
a portion of her scalp, but now know was a 'false 
front.' This was bad enough, but there was worse 
to come; there still remained a black silk skull cap 
that covered the thick white hair worn cropped closely 
to her head. When she took off this cap she seemed 
to stand before me as some strange and terrible man, 
so at this point I always covered my head with the 
bedclothes until the light was extinguished. 

"After getting into bed, my grandmother, who told 
every incident as dramatically as though she had 



20 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

participated in it herself, related appalling stories 
about witches, death, apparitions, and the Inquisi- 
tion. These stories made such a powerful impression 
on me that it is no wonder that I remember them 
after sixty years. Though my terror of my grand- 
mother in this guise was excessive, I do not think I 
should have liked the stories, generally grim and 
tragic, so well in a different setting. 

"Aunt Knodle was very neat and orderly, high- 
tempered and somewhat domineering, but possessing 
a singular charm. Children liked to go to her house 
even though they were made to be on their best be- 
havior while they were there. Everything in her 
house was in what we would call good taste to-day. 
She had beautiful old china, fine silver, and good fur- 
niture, everything rich and dark. The house was a 
long rambling cottage, with a turn in it to match the 
irregular shape of the lot. It had many gables and 
dormer windows, and the whole was covered with 
creeping roses, and there was a faint sweet smell 
about it that I think I would know now. The master 
of this delightful house, Adam Knodle, was as near a 
saint on earth as a man can be; he was kind to every- 
body and everything. He was extremely absent- 
minded, and his wife liked to tell how he once killed a 
chicken for the family dinner and threw away the 
chicken and brought in the head. 

"My aunt was an ardent lover of animals, and 
abhorred cruelty to them in any form. She had a 
dog named Ponto, an ugly ill-tempered little black 
dog of no pedigree whatever, who ruled as king in 
that house. He was accustomed to lie on a silk 



EARLY DAYS IN INDIANA 21 

cushion in the window commanding the best view. 
My aunt used to sit at one of the windows — not 
Ponto's, I can tell you — ready, like Dickens's heroine, 
Betsy Trotwood, to pounce out upon passing trav- 
elers. Sometimes, when she thought a horse was 
being driven too fast, she rushed out and seized it by 
the bridle while she read its driver a severe lecture." 

As the years passed the young girl's restless ener- 
gies found other outlets. At school she was a bril- 
liant but not an industrious pupil. It was in com- 
position that she shone especially, and one of her 
schoolmates says of her: "She always wrote her com- 
positions in such an attractive way, weaving them 
into a story, so that the children were eager to hear 
them." 

While attending high school she became fired with 
the idea of writing a book in conjunction with a 
friend, a beautiful Southern girl named Lucy McCrae. 
The writing was done secretly, after school hours, on 
the steps of the schoolhouse, while a third friend, 
Ella Hale,* kept guard, for the whole thing was to be 
a profound secret until the world should receive it as 
the wonder of the age. This great work was brought 
to a sudden end by the illness of Lucy McCrae. 

At this time the Van de Grift family were living 
in a house on Illinois Street. This house had a cellar 
door at the back. To quote the words of her school- 
mate, Ella Hale: "At this cellar door the children 
used to gather to hear fairy and ghost stories. Fanny 
was always the central figure, because she was the 
only one who could tell really interesting stories. 

* Now Mrs. Thaddeus Up de Graff, of Elmira, New York. 



22 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

These gatherings always took place after supper, and 
as the shadows grew darker and darker during the 
recital of a particularly thrilling ghost story, I clearly 
remember the fearful glances toward the dark corners 
and the crowding closer together of the little ones, 
till it sometimes resulted in a landslide, and we would 
find ourselves in a heap on the ground at the foot of 
the slanting door, our laughter quickly dispelling all 
our fears." 

Among Fanny's playmates there was a dark, hand- 
some boy, with large, melancholy eyes, named George 
Marshall, who was not only exceedingly attractive in 
looks but had many other graces. He was a born 
artist, and could dance, and act, and sing like an 
angel; and, best of all, he was as good as he was 
charming. These two were close companions in all 
sorts of strenuous sports, and nothing annoyed them 
more than to have little teasing Josephine, Fanny's 
younger sister, trailing after them and breaking up 
their games. George finally announced that he would 
play no more unless Josephine could be kept away. 
But boys change, and when he grew up he married 
Josephine. 

All too soon came the time when these days of 
careless childish joys were brought to a close. A new 
era opened, and romance, which budded early in that 
time and place, began to unfold its first tender leaves. 
Various youths of the town, attracted by the piquant 
prettiness and sparkling vivacity of the eldest daugh- 
ter, began to haunt the Van de Grift house. In the 
sentimental fashion of the day, these sighing swains 
carved her name on the trees, and so wide was the 



EARLY DAYS IN INDIANA 23 

circle of her fascination that there was scarcely a tree 
in the place that did not bear somewhere on its long- 
suffering trunk the name or initials of Fanny Van de 
Grift. None of these suitors, however, made any 
impression on the object of their attentions, who was 
so much of a child that she was walking on stilts in 
the garden when Samuel Osbourne first called at the 
house. He was an engaging youth, a Kentuckian by 
birth, with all the suavity and charm of the South- 
erner. Behind him lay a truly romantic ancestry, 
for, through John Stewart, who was stolen and brought 
up by the Indians, and never knew his parentage, he 
was a collateral descendant of Daniel Boone.* 

On December 4, 1857, in a house on Michigan 
Street, which had already been prepared and fur- 
nished for their occupancy, Samuel Osbourne, aged 
twenty, and Fanny Van de Grift, aged seventeen, 
were united in marriage. All the notables of the 
town, including Governor Willard, to whom young 
Osbourne was private secretary, and the entire staff 
of State officers, attended. The young bride looked 
charming in a handsome gown of heavy white satin, 
of the kind that "could stand alone," of the "block" 
pattern then in vogue, and made in the fashion of the 
day, with full long-trained skirt and tight low-necked 
bodice trimmed with a rich lace bertha. Her hair 
was worn in curls, fastened back from the face on 

* Stewart, who acquired by his Hfe among the Indians a thorough 
knowledge of the trails of the country, became a guide, and it was he 
that led Boone on the expedition to explore Kentucky. The connection 
between them became even closer when he married Boone's youngest 
sister, Hannah. At the State capitol there is a picture of him in the 
striking costume of the hunter and trapper, pointing out to Boone the 
lovely land of Kentucky. 



24 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

each side. The groom, who is seldom mentioned in 
these affairs, deserves a word or two, for he made a 
gallant figure in a blue coat with brass buttons, flow- 
ered waistcoat, fawn-coloured trousers, strapped un- 
der varnished boots, and carrying a bell-topped white 
beaver hat. One who was a guest at the wedding 
says, "They looked like two children," as indeed 
they were. It was a boy-and-girl marriage of the 
kind people entered into then with pioneer fearless- 
ness, to turn out well or ill, as fate decreed. 

The young couple took up their residence in the 
same house in which they were married, and before 
the young husband was twenty-one years old their 
first child, Isobel, was born. The little mother was 
so small and young-looking that once when she was 
on a railroad-train with her infant an old gentleman, 
looking at her with some concern, asked: "Sissy, 
where is the baby's mother ? " 

It was now that the great black storm-cloud which 
had been hovering over the nation for years broke 
in all its fury upon this border State. The Osbournes, 
together with nearly all their friends and relatives, 
cast in their lot with the North, and young Osbourne 
left his family and went to the war as captain in the 
army. 

We must now return to the dark, handsome boy, 
George Marshall, once the favourite playmate and 
now the brother-in-law of Fanny Van de Grift. He, 
too, joined the colours, in command of a company of 
Zouaves whom he had himself gathered and trained. 
After a time spent in active service on some of the 
hardest fought battle-fields of the Civil War, the hard- 



EARLY DAYS IN INDIANA 25 

ships and exposure of the Hfe told upon a constitution 
never at any time robust, and he returned to his 
young wife a victim of tuberculosis. The doctors 
said his only chance was to get to the milder climate 
of California, and at the close of the war Samuel 
Osbourne, who was his devoted friend, gave up posi- 
tion and prospects to accompany him thither. The 
two young men, leaving their families behind them, 
took ship at New York for Panama; but the Angel 
of Death sailed with them, and Captain Marshall 
breathed his last while crossing the Isthmus. 

Osbourne decided to go on to California, and on 
his arrival there was so pleased with the country that 
he wrote to his wife to sell her property at once and 
follow him. Bidding a long farewell to the loving 
parents who had up to that time stood between her 
and every trouble, Fanny Osbourne, at an age when 
most young women are enjoying the care-free life of 
irresponsible girlhood, took her small daughter Isobel 
and set forth into a new and strange world. 

Crossing the Isthmus by the crookedest railroad 
ever seen, she stopped at Panama to visit the burial- 
place of the young soldier, George Marshall, her child- 
hood playmate, beloved friend, and brother-in-law, 
and over that lonely grave the child for the first time 
saw her girlish mother shed tears. 



CHAPTER III 
ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE 

When at last the long voyage up the Western coast 
came to an end and the ship sailed into the broad bay 
of San Francisco, which lay serene and beautiful 
under the shadow of its towering guardian, Mount 
Tamalpais, Fanny Osbourne hung over the rail and 
surveyed the scene with eager interest. Yet it is 
altogether unlikely that any realization came to her 
then that the lively seaport town that lay before her 
was to become to her that magic thing we call "home,'* 
for men still regarded California as a place to "make 
their pile" in and then shake its dust from their feet. 
Her stay here was very brief, for her husband had 
gone at once to Nevada in the hope of getting a foot- 
hold in the silver-mines, which were then "booming," 
and she immediately followed him. 

From the level green corn-fields of Indiana, the 
land of her birth, to the grey sage-brush of the desert 
and the naked mountains of Nevada was a long step, 
but regrets were lost in the absorbing interest of the 
new life. 

In a canyon high up in the Toyabee Range, about 
six miles from Reese River, lay the new mining camp 
of Austin, then only about a year old. Reese River, 
though in summer it dries up in places so that its bed 
is only a series of shallow pools, is nevertheless a most 
picturesque stream, and Austin is surrounded by 

20 



ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE 27 

mountain scenery of the stupendous, awe-inspiring 
sort. 

In a little cabin on a mountainside Fanny Osbourne 
took up her new life amidst these strange surround- 
ings, which she found most interesting and exciting. 
The men, who were generally away from the camp 
during the day, working in the mines, were all ad- 
venturers — ^young, bold men — and though they wore 
rough clothes, were nearly all college bred. In Austin 
and its vicinity there were but six Wv^men, and when 
it was decided to give a party at another camp miles 
away, a thorough scouring of the whole surrounding 
country produced just seven of the fair sex. These 
ladies came in a sleigh, made of a large packing-box 
put on runners, to beg the newcomer, Mrs. Osbourne, 
to join them in this festivity. Having some pretty 
clothes she had brought with her, she hastily dressed 
by the aid of a shining tin pan which one of the 
women held up for her, there being no such thing as 
a mirror in the entire camp. Years afterwards, when 
Mrs. Osbourne was in Paris, she read in the papers of 
this woman as having taken the whole first floor of 
the Splendide Hotel, v/hich led her to remark: "I 
wonder if she remembers when she held the tin pan 
for me to do my hair!" At the party there were 
fifty men and seven women, and no woman danced 
twice with the same man. Among the men was a 
clergyman, who made himself very agreeable to Mrs. 
Osbourne. She asked why she had never heard of 
him before, and he replied: *'You have heard of me, I 
am sure, but not by my real name. They call me 
'Squinting Jesus' !" 



28 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

Her pioneer blood now began to show itself in all 
kinds of inventions with which she mitigated the 
discomforts of the raw mining camp. As vegetables 
were exceedingly scarce, the diet of the miners con- 
sisted almost exclusively of meat, and Mrs. Osbourne 
made a great hit by her ingenuity in devising varia- 
tions of this monotonous fare. She learned how to 
cook beef in fifteen different ways. Her great achieve- 
ment, however, was in making imitation honey, to 
eat with griddle-cakes, out of boiled sugar with a 
lump of alum in it. 

All about in the mountains there were Indians, be- 
longing to the Paiute tribe, and between 1849 and 
1882 there was constant trouble with them. They 
were a better-looking and more spirited race than 
the "Diggers" of California, and consequently more 
disposed to resent the frequent outrages put upon 
them by irresponsible men among the whites. As an 
instance, in 1861 some white men stole horses from 
the Indians, who then rose up in retaliation, and all 
the whites, the innocent as well as the guilty, were 
compelled to unite for defense, a large number losing 
their lives in the subsequent fight. 

In the mornings, while Mrs. Osbourne was doing 
her housework in the little cabin on the hillside, In- 
dians would gather outside and press their faces 
against the window-panes, their eyes following her 
about the room. There were blinds, but she was 
afraid to give offense by pulling them down. The 
absence of the Indians was sometimes even more 
alarming than their presence, and once when it was 
noticed that none of them had been seen about the 



ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE 29 

camp for several days, the residents knew that trouble 
threatened. One night signal fires blazed on the dis- 
tant mountain tops, and a thrill of fear ran through 
the little community. The women and children were 
gathered in one cabin and made to lie on the floor and 
keep quiet. Even the smallest ones must have felt 
the danger, for not a whimper escaped them. One 
of them was a baby called Aurora. Little Isobel Os- 
bourne thought she was called "Roarer " because 
she bawled all the time, but even "Roarer" was quiet 
that night. 

Among the Austin Indians there was a little boy 
who named his pony "Fanny." "Did you name it 
for me.'*" my sister asked. He nodded his head. 
"Why?" she asked, and he said it was because the 
pony had such little feet. 

Near the Osbourne cabin lived a miner named 
Johnny Crakroft. Mrs. Osbourne never saw him, 
for he was too shy to speak to a woman, but he left 
offerings on her door-step or tied to the knob. Johnny 
had killed a man in Virginia City, not an unusual 
occurrence in those days, but the circumstances seem 
to have been such that he did not dare go back there. 
Yet, with one of those strange contrasts so common 
in the life of the mines, he was a kind-hearted, domes- 
tic soul, and on baking days he made little dogs and 
cats and elephants out of sweetened dough, with cur- 
rants for eyes, for his little pal, Isobel Osbourne. 
One day he bestowed upon the child the rather incon- 
gruous present of a bottle of quicksilver and a bowie- 
knife, which she proudly carried home. 

Other neighbours in a cabin on the mountainside 



30 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

were two young Englishmen, mere boys of twenty or 
thereabout, named John Lloyd and Tom Reid. Wish- 
ing to celebrate the Queen's birthday in true British 
fashion, they went to Mrs. Osbourne to learn how to 
concoct a plum pudding. They learned, only the 
string broke and the pudding had to be served in 
soup-plates. 

Whatever else the life and the society may have 
been, they were never dull or tame. On one occasion, 
while crossing the desert in a stage-coach, Mrs. Os- 
bourne met the man said to be the original of Bret 
Harte's Colonel Starbottle. When the coach stopped 
at a little station, this gentleman politely asked his 
pretty fellow passenger what he could bring her. He 
was so flowery and pompous that as a little joke she 
asked for strawberries, thinking them the most im- 
possible thing to be found at the forlorn little place. 
To her amazement he actually brought her the berries. 

On another desert trip she was allowed, as a special 
favour, to sit on the front seat, between the driver and 
the express messenger. There had been, not long 
before, a number of hold-ups by "road agents," and 
when the stage came to suspicious-looking turns in 
the road the messenger made her put her head down 
on her knees while he laid his gun across her back. 
She could have gone inside with the other women, of 
course, but it was like her to prefer the seat with the 
driver, with its risk and its adventure. 

Later the Osbournes moved to Virginia City, where 
the life, while not quite so primitive as at Austin, was 
still highly flavoured with all the spice of a wild min- 
ing town. Gambling went on night and day, and the 



ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE 31 

killing of men over the games still happened often 
enough. In the diary of a pioneer of that time, 
Samuel Orr, of Alameda, who later married one of 
Mrs. Osbourne's sisters, Cora Van de Grift, I find this 
entry: "This is the hardest place I ever struck. I 
saw two men killed to-day in a gambling fight." 
Men engaged at their work or passing along the 
streets were quite often compelled to duck and dodge 
to escape sudden fusillades of bullets. There was 
little regard for the law, and "killings" seldom re- 
ceived legal punishment. 

Virginia City, despite its desolate environment of 
grey, naked mountains and deep, narrow ravines, had 
its own rugged charm. The air was so crystal-pure 
that at times one could see as far as one hundred and 
eighty miles from its lofty seat on the skirts of Mount 
Davidson. Far to the west and south stretched 
a wonderful panorama of multicoloured and snow- 
capped mountains, and in the gap between lay the 
desert and a fringe of green to mark the course of the 
Carson River. The town, which lay immediately 
over the famous Comstock Lode, was built on ground 
with such a pitch that what was the second story of 
a house in front became the first in the back. Every 
winter snow falls to a depth of several feet in the 
town, and on the summit of Mount Davidson it never 
melts. At that time Virginia City was described as 
"a lively place, wherein all kinds of industry as well 
as vice flourished." 

After their arrival here Samuel Osbourne bought 
the Mills, Post, and White mine, and in the interval 
of waiting for results worked, like the resourceful 



32 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

American that lie was, at various empl.yments to 
earn a living for himself and his family. For a time 
he was clerk of the Justice's Court in Virginia City. 

It was even so early as in these Nevada mining 
days that the grey cloud which was to darken some 
of the best years of her life first appeared above the 
young wife's horizon, for it was there that the first 
foreboding came to her that her marriage was to be 
a failure. The wild, free life of the West had carried 
her young and impressionable husband off his feet, 
and the painful suspicion now came to her that she 
did not reign alone in his heart. As time passed this 
trouble went from bad to worse, but no more need be 
said of it at this point except to make it clear that 
years before her meeting with the true love of her 
heart, Robert Louis Stevenson, the disagreements 
which finally resulted in the shattering of her first 
romance had already begun. 

In 1866, lured by reports of rich strikes in Mon- 
tana, Osbourne set off on a prospecting tour to the 
Coeur d'Alene Mountains, leaving his wife and child 
in Virginia City. While in Montana he met another 
prospector, Samuel Orr (who afterwards became his 
brother-in-law), and the two joined forces, becoming, 
in miners' phrase, "pardners." 

Led on by the ever-fleeing hope of the great "strike" 
that might lie just ahead, the two men penetrated so 
far into the depths of this rugged mountain country 
that they were for some time out of the reach of mails, 
causing their friends to finally give them up as dead. 
Running out of funds, they were obliged to take 
work at what they could get, and Osbourne sold 



ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE 33 

tickets in theatre at Helena, Montana, and later 
took a job in a sawmill at Bear Gulch. At one place 
he and another man bought up all the coffee to be 
had, and, after grinding it up, sold it in small lots at 
an advanced price. 

Failing in their quest for the elusive treasure, Os- 
bourne and Orr, not being able to cash the cheques 
with which they were paid for their work, were at last 
compelled to borrow the money with which to make 
their way back to civilization and their families. 

About this time the silver-mining boom in Nevada 
began to ebb, and there was an exodus of men and 
women, mostly discouraged and "broke," to San 
Francisco. As Mrs. Osbourne had arranged to meet 
her husband in that city, she decided to join some of 
her friends in their removal to the coast, and began 
to make preparations for the long, hard journey. In 
those days little girls wore very short dresses, with 
several white petticoats, like ballet dancers, and long 
white stockings. This dress seemed peculiarly un- 
suitable for the dusty stage trip across the desert, and 
Mrs. Osbourne, meeting the situation with her usual 
common sense, bought a boy's suit and dressed her 
little girl in it. The passengers called her "Billy," 
and a sensation was created among them when, after 
arrival at the Occidental Hotel in the bustling city 
of San Francisco, the child appeared in her own little 
ballet costume. 

At this date, 1866, San Francisco was no longer a 
mere resting-place for the birds of passage on their 
way to the mines, but had become a settled town, 
with an air of permanency and solidity. It was then 



34 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

compactly built, for it was only the advent years 
later of the cable-cars that enabled it to spread out 
over its many hills. The glamour of the days of the 
first mad rush for gold, with their feverish alterna- 
tions of mounting hope and black despair, was gone, 
but in its stead had come safety and comfort, and 
there were few places in the world where one could 
live more agreeably, or even more luxuriously, than 
in San Francisco in the '60's. 

Here word was brought that Osbourne had been 
killed by the Indians, and life began to bear heavily 
upon the young wife and mother, stranded without 
means in a strange city. She put on widow's weeds 
and looked about for employment with which to eke 
out her fast diminishing store. When she was a little 
girl she had learned to do fine sewing on the ruffles 
for her father's shirts, and had always made her own 
and her child's dresses. This talent, which proved 
exceedingly useful at various times in her life, now 
served her in good stead. She secured a situation 
as fitter in a dressmaking establishment, where, on 
account of her foreign looks, she was thought to be 
French. 

Friends were not lacking, for many looked with 
pity upon the supposed widow struggling to keep her 
head above water in a land so far from her own home 
and family. During her absence at work she left 
the child in the care of the kind-hearted landlady of 
the boarding-house and her young son, Michael, still 
gratefully remembered as "Mackerel" by Isobel. In 
the same boarding-house John Lloyd, the young Eng- 
lishman of the Reese River days, had also established 



ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE 35 

himself. On Sundays, no doubt to give the tired 
mother a long rest, he would take little Bel to the 
beach out by old Fort Point, where he made swords 
for her out of driftwood, played at Jack the Giant- 
Killer, and told stories about Mr. and Mrs. Sea-Gull 
and what they said to each other. He even borrowed 
fairy-tale books from the public library in order to 
learn stories to tell his little friend on these Sunday 
outings. There came a birthday, with very little to 
make it gay, but the kind-hearted young man bought 
a small jointed doll with his meagre earnings, and the 
mother made a set of beautiful clothes for it out of 
bits of bright-coloured silks she had saved from her 
sewing. This, with a little table whittled out of a 
cigar-box and a ten-cent set of dishes, made a glorious 
day for the happy child. This friendship was main- 
tained in later years, and when the once poor clerk 
became a bank president, Fanny Stevenson put her 
money in his bank. 

So life went on for the mother and child until one 
eventful day, when a tall, handsome man in high 
boots and a wide hat suddenly appeared at the door, 
and crying out, "Is this my little girl?" caught her 
up in his arms. As one risen from the dead, the hus- 
band and father had returned, and, to the child's 
amazement, they immediately moved into what 
seemed to her a very fine house, and she had a wax 
doll for Christmas. 

For a few succeeding years happiness seemed to 
have returned to dwell with the little family. Os- 
bourne soon made his way in the busy city and all 
went well. They lived in San Francisco for several 



36 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

years. There a son was born to them, and they 
named him Lloyd, after their good friend, John Lloyd, 
now a successful lawyer. 

Those peaceful days were brought to an end when 
Mrs. Osbourne discovered that her husband had 
again betrayed her, and she returned to her father's 
house in Indiana. After nearly a year she yielded 
to entreaties and promises of reform, and again jour- 
neyed to California, taking Cora Van de Grift, one 
of her younger sisters, with her. 

A little while after their return to San Francisco, in 
1869, Osbourne bought a house and lot for his family 
in East Oakland, then known as Brooklyn, at the 
corner of Eleventh Avenue and East 18th Street. 
Settled under their own roof-tree in the golden land 
of California, the family for a time were measurably 
happy. Mrs. Osbourne, who is described as being 
then "a young and slender woman, wearing her hair 
in two long braids down her back," was evidently 
making a strong effort to forget past differences and 
to make home a pleasant place for her children. 
Though she cared little for society in the general 
sense of the word, yet she contrived to gather about 
her in East Oakland a little intimate circle of clever, 
talented, and agreeable people. Among them were 
Judge Timothy Rearden, a well-known attorney and 
litterateur of San Francisco; Virgil Williams, director 
of the San Francisco School of Design, and his wife; 
Yelland, Bush, and other distinguished artists; the 
musician Oscar Weil, and many more whose names 
do not now come to mind. 

She built a studio where she painted, had a dark 



ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE 37 

room where she took photographs — and photography 
in those days of "wet plates" was a mysterious and 
unheard-of accompHshment for an amateur; then 
there was a rifle-range where she set up a target, and, 
occasionally, when it was the cook's day out, she 
would make wonderful dishes, while odd moments 
were filled in at a sewing-machine making pretty 
clothes. By this time she had become a famous cook, 
and often prepared dinners fit to set before a king. 
She little thought then that some day she would 
break bread with real kings, even though they were 
but Polynesian monarchs. 

Of all her activities that from which she drew the 
purest joy was her gardening, for in this fortunate 
place, where sun and soil and balmy air all conspire 
to produce a paradise for flowers, "her Dutch blood 
began to come out," as she said, and she threw herself 
with ardour into the business of digging and pruning 
and planting. The little cottage was soon curtained 
with vines, and the whole place glowed with the 
many-coloured hues of gorgeous roses. There, too, 
the tawny golden bells of the tiger lily, her own par- 
ticular flower, hung from their tall stalks. This was 
the first of the many wonderful gardens that were 
made to bloom under her skilful tending in various 
parts of the world. 

The charming domestic picture of her life in this 
period can be given in no better way than by quoting 
the words of her daughter: 

"At that time our fashionable neighbors gave 'par- 
ties' for their children. One night a fire broke out 
in a house where I had gone to a party. My mother 



38 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

was at home, sitting at her work, when she suddenly 
cried 'Something is the matter with Bel!' and rush- 
ing out, ran across ploughed fields, her slippers falling 
ofiF, leaving her to run in stockings all the way. It 
was not until she was half-way there that she saw 
the smoke and realized the meaning of her intuition. 
When she found that I was all right and had been 
sent home she fainted and had to be carried home 
herself. She made my clothes herself, and I can 
remember to this day how pretty they were. I was 
very dark and of course ashamed of it, but she told 
me it was very nice to be different from other people, 
and dressed me in crisp yellow linen or pale blue, 
which made me look still darker, on the principle that 
Sarah Bernhardt followed in exaggerating her thin- 
ness when it was the fashion to have a rounded form. 
My mother told me to consider my dark skin a 
beauty, for she believed that if children had a good 
opinion of themselves they would never be self- 
conscious. 

"All the other girls in my school had given parties 
and I begged to be allowed to give one too. Our lit- 
tle house was not very suitable for the purpose, but 
my mother put her wits to work. She fitted up the 
stable with a stage and seats, and persuaded a neigh- 
bor who played the cornet to act as 'band.' Then 
she taught a small group of us to act 'Villikens and 
his Dinah,' which she read aloud behind the scenes, 
and 'Bluebeard,' made into a little play. My pater- 
nal grandmother, a straight-backed, severe looking 
old lady, was then visiting us. How my mother 
managed it I don't know, but Grandma, who abhorred 



ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE 39 

theatricals, was soon reading *Villikens* for us to 
practice, and she even consented to appear as one of 
Bluebeard's departed wives. A sheet was hung up 
to represent a wall; the wives stood behind it and 
put their heads through holes that had been cut for 
the purpose; their hair was pulled up and tacked to 
imaginary nails, and very realistic pieces of red flannel 
arranged to represent gore. My grandmother was a 
truly awful sight when my mother had painted her 
face and made her up for the show. The party was 
a great success, and only the other day I met a woman 
who had been one of the guests and she still remem- 
bered it as one of the striking events of her childhood. 
"My mother influenced me in those days in many 
ways that I shall never forget, especially in her 
hatred of anything that savored of snobbery. When 
I gave the party I placed the invitations in little pink 
envelopes and put them on the desks of my school- 
mates. A neighbor's son who was poor and had to 
carry newspapers and peddle milk, sat next to me in 
school. Children are snobs by nature, and this boy 
was never asked to any of our parties. I consulted 
my mother as to what I should do about Danny, for 
he had been nice to me and I hated to leave him out. 
*0f course you must invite him,' she said. 'But 
none of the other girls invited him to their parties,* 
said I. 'There is nothing against him, is there, 
except being poor?' 'Nothing at all,' I replied, and 
so I was directed to include him in the invitations. I 
shall never forget poor slighted Danny's radiant face 
when he saw there was a note for him. He came to 
the party dressed in new clothes from head to foot. 



40 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

and made such a success that after that he was always 
asked in 'our set.' 

"My mother also taught me to be considerate of 
other people's feelings. My teacher once kept me in 
for slamming a door; I told my mother about it and 
admitted that I had slammed it purposely because 
my teacher was so cross. In the guise of an enter- 
taining story, she told me how the teacher, a pretty 
young woman named Miss Miller, had come to teach 
a big class, a stranger, alone, and that perhaps she 
had a headache from having cried the night before 
from homesickness. In this way she harrowed my 
feelings to such an extent that I went to Miss Miller 
of my own accord and begged her pardon, and the 
poor girl wept and loved me, and thenceforth made 
life miserable for me among my schoolmates by acts 
of 'favoritism.'" 

In the little rose-covered cottage in Oakland a 
second son, Hervey, was born to the Osbournes. He 
was an extraordinarily beautiful child, with the rare 
combination of large dark eyes and yellow curls, but 
there was an ethereal look about him that boded no 
long stay on this earthly sphere. 

It was perhaps partly to fill a great void that she 
began to feel in her life that Mrs. Osbourne took up 
the study of art in the School of Design conducted by 
Virgil Williams in San Francisco. Mother and daugh- 
ter studied there side by side. While there Mrs. 
Osbourne won the prize, a silver medal, for the best 
drawing. She seemed not to value it at the time, 
but after her death her daughter found it in a little 
box laid away in her jewel-case. 



ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE 41 

Wlien the little yellow-haired boy was about four 
years old, the cloud which had menaced the happi- 
ness of the family for so long again descended upon 
them. For years Mrs. Osbourne had made earnest 
and conscientious efforts to avoid the disruption of 
her marital ties, plighted with such high hopes in the 
springtime of her girlhood, but her husband's infideli- 
ties had now become so open and flagrant that the 
situation was no longer bearable. Divorce was at 
that time a far more serious step than it is now, and, 
for the sake of her family, she hesitated long before 
taking it, but there is no doubt that she was deeply 
wounded and humiliated by this painful episode in 
her life, and, in 1875, partly to remove herself as far 
as possible from distressing associations, partly to 
give her daughter the advantage of instruction in 
foreign schools of art, she took her three children and 
set out for Europe. When she left California for 
this journey it is no exaggeration to say that every 
bond of affection that held her to Samuel Osbourne 
had been broken. 



CHAPTER IV 

FRANCE, AND THE MEETING ATGREZ 

When they arrived on the other side, the Osboumes 
went directly to Antwerp, having decided to make a 
trial of that place first for their art studies. They 
landed at night in that most picturesque old city and 
took quarters at the Hotel du Bien-etre, a quaint 
little old bourgeois inn where you walked in through 
the kitchen — full of copper pots and pans. It was 
in the days before "improvements" — broad avenues, 
street-cars, and the like — had robbed the old town of 
much of its distinctive charm, when at the corners 
of the narrow, stone-paved streets shrines of the 
Virgin and Child might still be seen. The passing 
crowds — peasant women in elaborate lace caps and 
long cloaks, groups of soldiers, milk carts drawn by 
dogs — all were intensely interesting to the newcomers 
from America, for whom this was the first foreign 
experience. The evening of their arrival they hung 
fascinated from their windows, listening to the glori- 
ous chimes from the cathedral near by, and watching 
the changing spectacle below. There were little 
tables in the street where soldiers sat drinking, while 
maids in huge caps filled their flagons. Isobel re- 
marked: "It is like a scene in an opera; all we need 
is music." At that moment a band at the corner 
struck up "La Fille de Madame Angot," and the 
illusion was complete. 

42 



THE MEETING AT GREZ 43 

The Hotel du Bien-etre was kept by the Ger- 
hardts, a delightful family of father, mother, and 
eleven children. It was a happy time in Antwerp 
for the Osbourne children, for this large family of 
young people provided them with pleasant com- 
panionship. 

But if the Osbourne children had a happy time in 
Antwerp, it was far otherwise with their mother, for 
she was alone with her family in a foreign land and 
had little money, and the responsibility weighed 
heavily upon her, her anxiety being further increased 
by signs of ill-health in her youngest child, Hervey. 
In this state of mind she was deeply touched by the 
warm-hearted kindness of the Gerhardts, which they 
exhibited in a thousand ways. One day the news- 
papers published an account of the failure of a bank 
in San Francisco, and, knowing that his guests came 
from that city. Papa Gerhardt was troubled lest they 
might suffer some pecuniary distress from the failure. 
Out of the fulness of his good heart he said to Mrs. 
Osbourne: "Do not be anxious; it does not matter if 
you have lost your money; you can stay with Papa 
Gerhardt." Fortunately, the bank failure did not 
affect her in any way, but the generosity of these 
good people in her lonely situation went straight to 
her heart, and to the end of her days one only had to 
be a Belgian to call forth her help and sympathy. 

Finding it necessary to economize, she took a 
house, a queer little stone building with a projecting 
roof, containing four small rooms, one on top of the 
other. The rooms were so tiny that when the big 
front door stood ajar it opened up almost all the 



44 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

little apartment dignified by the name of "salon.'* 
The entire Gerhardt family took a hand in getting 
them settled, bringing little gifts — crocheted mats, 
bouquets of artificial flowers, and two pictures, 
bright-coloured chromos of "Morning" and "Night," 
representing two little children, awake and asleep. 
Mrs. Osbourne loyally kept these pictures for years, 
hanging them upon her wall in tender and grateful 
memory of the Gerhardts. 

After three months' stay in Antwerp, finding it to 
be a difficult place for women to study art, and hav- 
ing been told of a good and cheap school in Paris, 
she decided to go there. When they parted, with 
many tears, from their dear Belgian friends, Mrs. 
Osbourne, with a swelling heart, tried to thank Papa 
Gerhardt for his kindness to her and her children, 
but he said he had a large family who would some 
day have to go out into the world, and he had treated 
the Americans as he hoped his own would be treated. 

From Antwerp they went to Paris, and Fanny and 
her daughter entered the Julien School of Art on the 
Passage des Panorama, where they spent a very busy 
time working at their drawings under the instruction 
of Monsieur Tony Fleury. The older of the two 
boys, Lloyd, was placed in a French school, and he 
still remembers that in any quarrel with the boys he 
was called "Prussian" as a dire insult. He did not 
know what it meant, but nevertheless resented it 
promptly. 

The family lived very plainly, their meals often 
consisting of smoked herring and brown bread; 
yet these straitened circumstances did not prevent 



THE MEETING AT GREZ 45 

Mrs. Osbourne from taking pity on poor and home- 
sick young students, fellow countrymen, whom she 
met at the school, and, when funds allowed, she in- 
vited them to eat Dutch-American dishes prepared 
by her own hands. 

During these Paris days a heavy sorrow fell upon 
the family. The beautiful golden-haired boy, Hervey, 
then about five years old, fell ill, and after lingering 
for some time, passed away, and was buried in an ex- 
ile's grave at St. Germain. Though the mother bore 
even this heart-crushing blow with outward fortitude, 
the memory of it dwelt always in an inner chamber 
of her heart. In a letter of sympathy written by her 
years afterwards to the Graham Balfours,* on hearing 
of the death of one of their children, she says: "My 
Hervey would have been a man of forty now had he 
lived, and yet I am grieving and longing for my little 
child as though he had just gone. Time doesn't 
always heal wounds as we are told it does." 

After this sad event the bereaved mother was so 
listless and broken in health that the doctor advised 
a change to some quiet country place, where she could 
get the benefit of outdoor life and better air than in 
the stuffy little Paris apartment. A casual acquain- 
tance, Mr. Pardessus, an American sculptor whom 
they had met at the art school, told them about 
Grez, a little village in Fontainebleau Forest on the 
River Loing, where there was a ruined castle, a pic- 
turesque old inn, and a lovely garden on the river- 
bank. Above all, it was modest in price and so 

* Now Sir Graham and Lady Balfour. Sir Graham is a cousin of 
Robert Louis Stevenson, and his biographer. 



46 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

retired that it was almost unknown to ordinary trav- 
ellers. This alluring description was not to be re- 
sisted, and Mrs. Osbourne, with her little family, 
now sadly bereaved, left for the place which was to 
play so momentous a part in her future. 

When they reached Grez they found there only 
one visitor — Mr. Walter Palmer, then a young stu- 
dent, who was painting in the garden. It was a 
quiet, restful place, and Mrs. Osbourne began to 
recover the tone of her health and spirits in its peace- 
ful atmosphere. 

Previous to this time women artists had been prac- 
tically unknown in the colonies about Fontainebleau, 
and the men who haunted these places were disposed 
to resent the coming of any of the other sex. The 
news that an American lady and her two children had 
arrived at Grez spread consternation among them, 
and they sent a scout, Mr. R. A. M. Stevenson,* 
ahead to look over the situation and report. The 
choice of scout was scarcely a wise one, for "Bob" 
Stevenson, as he was known to his friends, instantly 
fell a victim to the attractions of the strangers — 
who, by the way, were utterly unconscious that they 
were regarded as intruders — and so he stayed on 
from day to day. After waiting some time for the 
return of the faithless emissary, another, Sir Walter 
Simpson, was sent, but he, too, failed to return. 
Then Robert Louis Stevenson set out to look into 
the mystery. His coming had been led up to like a 
stage entrance, for first his cousin had told wonderful 
stories of adventures in which Louis was always the 

* Robert Alan Mowbray Stevenson, cousin of Robert Louis. 



THE MEETING AT GREZ 47 

hero — what Louis did, what Louis said — until the 
two Americans, mother and daughter, began to get 
interested in this fascinating person; and then came 
Sir Walter, with more stories of Louis — stories that 
are now well known through An Inland Voyage. 

One evening in the summer of 1876 the little party 
of guests at the old inn sat at dinner about the long 
table in the centre of the salle-a-manger with the 
painted panels — handiwork of artists who had stopped 
there at various times. It was a soft, sweet evening, 
and the doors and windows were open; dusk drew 
near, and the lamps had just been lit. Suddenly a 
young man approached from the outside. It was 
Robert Louis Stevenson, who afterwards admitted 
that he had fallen in love with his wife at first sight 
when he saw her in the lamplight through the open 
window. 

The autumn months passed swiftly by after this 
meeting in an ideal existence of work and play. 
Mrs. Osbourne worked industriously at her painting, 
and as she sat at her easel the acquaintance be- 
tween her and the young Scotchman rapidly flowered 
into a full and sympathetic understanding. Every- 
thing about this American family, speaking as it did 
of a land of new and strange customs and habits of 
thought, appealed strongly to the ardent young man. 
He was a devoted admirer of Walt Whitman, and 
thought he knew America. The daughter, Isobel, 
described by one of the members of the colony* 
at Grez as "a bewitching young girl of seventeen, 
with eyes so large as to be out of drawing," amazed 

* Mr. Birge Harrison, in the Century Magazine, December, 1916. 



48 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

and delighted him by the piquancy of the contrast 
between her and the young women he had previ- 
ously known. In a girlish description given in one 
of her letters home, written at the time, she says : 

"There is a young Scotchman here, a Mr. Steven- 
son, who looks at me as though I were a natural 
curiosity. He never saw a real American girl before, 
and he says I act and talk as though I came out of a 
book — I mean an American book. He says that 
when he first met Bloomer* he came up to him and 
said in his western way: 'These parts don't seem 
much settled, hey.^^* He laughed for an hour at the 
idea of such an old place not being much settled. 
He is such a nice looking ugly man, and I would 
rather listen to him talk than read the most interest- 
ing book I ever saw. We sit in the little green arbor 
after dinner drinking coffee and talking till late at 
night. Mama is ever so much better and is getting 
prettier every day." 

Again she writes: 

"Yesterday I canoed to Nemours in Louis Steven- 
son's Rob Roy. We generally congregate down in 
the garden by the big tree after dinner. Mama 
swings in the hammock, looking as pretty as possi- 
ble, and we all form a group around her on the grass, 
Louis and Bob Stevenson babbling about boats, while 
Simpson, seated near by, fans himself with a large 
white fan." 

The little party in the old inn, "entirely surrounded 
by peasants," as Bob Stevenson said, devised all 
sorts of sports, for which the river afforded many 

* An American artist. 




Fanny Osbourne at about the time of her first meeting with 
Robert Louis Stevenson 



THE MEETING AT GREZ 49 

opportunities. There was a huge old boat, a double 
canoe, lying at the water's edge; this they put on 
rollers, and after the entire party had climbed into it, 
persuaded the passing peasants to come and push it 
off the bank, like a sort of "shoot the chutes." An- 
other game was to divide the canoes into bands, each 
under a captain, and engage in a contest, each side 
trying to tip over the enemy canoes. In all this 
hilarious fun Louis Stevenson was the leader. 

In the old hall they had great times, with dances, 
now and then a performance by strolling players, and 
once a masquerade given by the guests of the inn 
themselves, in which they dressed as gods and god- 
desses in sheets and wreaths. Once when a couple 
of wandering singers arrived after a disappointing 
season, the artists contributed a purse and invited 
them to spend a week and rest. These people told 
Stevenson the story he made into Providence and the 
Guitar, and the money which he received for it he 
sent to them afterwards to help pay for the educa- 
tion of their little girl in Paris. 

But of all that went on at Grez the talks are re- 
membered as the best, for, notwithstanding their 
merry fooling in their idle hours, there were brilliant 
minds among the company, and the conversation 
sparkled with rare conceits. 

Three summers the Osbournes returned to spend 
at Grez, lingering on the last time until the snow 
came. A short visit was made to Barbizon, too, and 
once when there the whole party had their silhou- 
ettes drawn on the walls of the dining-room. This 
was done by placing a lamp so that it threw a shadow 



50 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STE\'EXSOX 

of the face in profile on the wall, then outlining the 
shadow and filling it in with black. Louis Stevenson 
vrroie verses to them all. The place was repainted 
the next spring, which was to be regretted, for the 
walls were completely covered with the most inter- 
esting silhouettes and drawings by painters who later 
became famous, to say nothing of the verses made 
by Stevenson, which would now have been a priceless 
memorial of those youthful days. 

Among the joyous coterie was the American 
painter Will H. Low, who writes thus of Fanny Os- 
bourne in his Chronicle of Friendships: 

"One evening at Grez we saw two new faces, 
mother and daughter, though in appearance more 
like sisters; the elder, slight, with delicately moulded 
features and \'i\'id eyes gleaming from under a mass 
of dark hair; the younger of more robust t\-pe, in the 
first precocious bloom of womanhood." 

Another of the company, "Mr. Birge Harrison, 
writing in the Century Magazine of December, 1916, 
expresses his mature judgment of her as he knew 
her at the little French \Tllage: 

"Among a few women who were doing serious 
work at this place was the lady, ' Trusty, dusky, vi^^d, 
and true,' to whom Robert Louis Stevenson inscribed 
the most beautiful love song of our time. Mrs. Os- 
bourne could not have been at that time more than 
thirty-five years of age —a grave and remarkable type 
of womanhood, with eyes of a depth and sombre 
beauty that I have never seen equalled — eyes, never- 
theless, that upon occasion could sparkle with humor 
and brim over with laughter. Yet upon the whole 




KoUrrt LouLs Stevenson in the French day- 



THE MEETING AT GREZ 51 

Mrs. Osbourne impressed me as first of all a woman 
of profound character and serious judgment, who 
could, if occasion called, have been the leader in 
some great movement. But she belonged to the 
quattrocento rather than to the nineteenth centurj-. 
Had she been born a Medici, she would have held 
rank as one of the remarkable women of all time. 
That she was a woman of intellectual attainments is 
proved by the fact that she was already a magazine 
writer of recognized ability, and that at the moment 
when Stevenson first came into her life she was mak- 
ing a living for herself and her two children with her 
pen. But this, after all, is a more or less ordinary 
accomplishment, and Mrs. Osbourne was in no sense 
ordinary. Indeed, she was gifted with a mysterious 
sort of over-intelligence, which is almost impossible 
to describe, but which impressed itself upon every 
one who came within the radius of her influence. 
Napoleon had much of this; likewise his arch enemy, 
the great Duke of Wellington; and among women, 
Catherine of Russia and perhaps Elizabeth of Eng- 
land. She was therefore both physically and men- 
tally the very antithesis of the gay, hilarious, open- 
minded and open-hearted Stevenson, and for that 
very reason perhaps the woman in all the world best 
fitted to be his life comrade and helpmate. At any 
rate we may well ask ourselves if anywhere else he 
would have found the kind of understanding and 
devotion which she gave him from the day of their 
first meeting at Grez vmtil the day of his death in 
far-away Samoa; if anywhere else there was a woman 
of equal attainments who would willingly, nay gladly. 



52 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

throw aside all of the pleasures and comforts of civ- 
ilization to live among savages, and the still rougher 
whites of the South Pacific, in order that her husband 
might have just a little more oxygen for his failing 
lungs, a little more chance for a respite and an exten- 
sion of his shortening years? Probably no one ever 
better deserved than she the noble tribute of verse 
which her husband gave her, and from which I have 
quoted the opening line." 

In 1878 the Osbournes returned to America, trav- 
elling by way of Queenstown, where, for the sake of 
stepping on Irish soil, they went ashore for a few 
hours and took a ride in a real jaunting-car, with a 
driver who was as Irish as possible, with a thick 
brogue, a hole in his hat, and a smiling, good-hu- 
moured countenance. 

A short stop was made in Indiana to visit the old 
family home in Hendricks County, now saddened by 
the death of our father, and then Fanny Osbourne 
once more turned her steps towards the setting sun. 
At this time she added me, her youngest sister, to 
her party, and I remained with her until her mar- 
riage to Stevenson and their departure for Scotland. 
She was then in the full flower of her striking and 
unusual beauty, and so youthful in appearance that 
she, her daughter, and I passed everywhere as three 
sisters. To me, reared as I had been in the flat coun- 
try of central Indiana, where mountains and the sea 
were wonders known only through books, the journey 
across the continent — with its glimpses of the mighty 
snow-capped crags of the Rockies outlined against 
the fiery sunset skies of that region, the weird castel- 



THE MEETING AT GREZ 53 

lated rocks of the "Bad Lands," the colonies of funny 
little prairie-dogs peeping out of their burrows, the 
blanket-wrapped Indians waiting at the stations, and 
finally the awesome vision of the stupendous canyons 
and precipices of the Sierras, was like some strange, 
impossible dream; and when at last we came out into 
the warm sun and flowery brightness of California, 
straight from the gloom and chill of an Indiana No- 
vember, it was as though the gates of paradise had 
suddenly opened. 

Not long after her return to California, finding a 
reconciliation with her husband to be quite out of 
the question, Mrs. Osbourne decided to bring suit for 
divorce, which was eventually granted without oppo- 
sition. 

In the meantime, being much run down in health 
as a result of these harassing anxieties, she wished 
to seek rest in some quiet place free from unpleasant 
associations. This she found in the charming little 
coast town of Monterey, which was then still un- 
spoiled by tourist travel, and, taking her family with 
her, she went there for a stay of several months. In 
the soft air and peaceful atmosphere of this place her 
health and spirits soon revived. There she found an 
opportunity to indulge her skill as a horsewoman, 
and at any time she might have been seen galloping 
along the country roads on her little mustang, Clavel.* 
She even joined a party of friends who accompanied 
a band of vaqueros^ in a great rodeoX on the San Fran- 
cisquito ranch near Monterey. We rode for days 

* A Spanish word, pronounced clahvel, and meaning a pink, 
t Cowboys. I Cattle round-up. 



54 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

from station to station, through a delightful country, 
under the feathery, scented redwoods and beside 
clear mountain-streams in which the trout leaped. 
We slept in barns on the hay or on the f ar-from-downy 
rawhide cots in the ranch shanties, and subsisted on 
freshly killed beef hastily barbecued over the camp- 
fire, coming back to Monterey sunburned to a fine 
mahogany. 



CHAPTER V 

IN CALIFORNIA WITH ROBERT LOUIS 
STEVENSON 

As the months passed, Stevenson, drawn by an 
irresistible desire to see the one who had become 
dearest in all the world to him, and having heard 
that she was soon to be freed from the bonds that 
held her to another, decided to take ship for America. 
After the long ocean voyage and the fatiguing jour- 
ney from sea to sea, which he has himself so graphi- 
cally described, he went straight to meet the family 
at Monterey. 

In the year 1879 there remained one spot in prac- 
tical America where the Spirit of Romance still lin- 
gered, though even there she stood a-tiptoe, ready to 
take wing into the mists of the Pacific. It seems 
fitting that it should have been at that place that I 
first knew Robert Louis Stevenson. Although the 
passing of the years has dimmed the memory of those 
days to a certain degree, yet here and there a high 
light gleams out in the shadowy haze of the picture 
and brings back the impression of his face and per- 
sonality and of the surroundings and little events of 
our daily life in his company as though they had 
happened but yesterday. The little town of Mon- 
terey, being out of the beaten track of travel, and 
having no mines or large agricultural tracts in its 

55 



5Q LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

vicinity to stimulate trade, had dreamed away the 
years since American occupation, and still retained 
much of the flavour of the pastoral days of Spanish 
California. It is true that at the cascarone* balls — 
at which the entire population, irrespective of age or 
worldly position, dressed in silks or in flannel shirts, 
as the case might be, still gathered almost weekly 
in truly democratic comradeship — the egg-shells were 
no longer filled with gold-dust, as sometimes hap- 
pened in the prodigal Spanish days; yet time was still 
regarded as a thing of so little value that no one 
thought of abandoning the pleasures of the dance 
until broad daylight. Along the narrow, crooked 
streets of the little town, with its precarious wooden 
sidewalks, the language of old Castile, spoken with 
surprising purity, was heard more often than English. 
In fact, as Mr. Stevenson himself says in his essay on 
The Old Pacific Capital: "It was difficult to get along 
without a word or two of that language for an occa- 
sion." 

High adobe walls, topped with tiles, concealed 
pleasant secluded gardens, from which the heavy 
perfume of the floribundia and other semitropical 
flowers poured out on the evening air. Behind such 
a wall and in the midst of such a garden stood the 
two-story adobe dwelling of the Senorita Maria 
Ygnacia Bonifacio, known to her intimates as Dona 
Nachita. In the "clean empty rooms" of this house, 

* These entertainments were so called in allusion to the custom of 
breaking cascarones (egg-shells), previously filled with finely cut coloured 
or tinsel paper, upon the heads of the dancers. By the time the midnight 
hour rolled around, every head glittered with the confetti, and the floor 
was piled several inches deep with it. 



IN CALIFORNIA 57 

furnished with Spanish abstemiousness and kept in 
shining whiteness, "where the roar of the water dwelt 
as in a shell upon the chimney," we had our tem- 
porary residence, and here Louis Stevenson came often 
to visit us and share our simple meals, each of which 
became a little fete in the thrill of his presence and 
conversation. Something he had in him that made 
life seem a more exciting thing, better worth living, 
to every one associated with him, and it seemed im- 
possible to be dull or bored in his company. It is 
true that he loved to talk, and one of his friends 
complained that he was too "deuced explanatory," 
but it seemed to me that the flood of talk he some- 
times poured out was the overflow of a full mind, a 
mind so rich in ideas that he could well afford to 
bestow some of it upon his friends without hope of 
return. His was no narrow vein to be jealously 
hoarded for use in his writings, but his difficulty lay 
rather in choosing from the wealth of his store. He 
once remarked that he could not understand a man's 
having to struggle to "find something to write about," 
and perhaps it is true that one who has to do that 
has no real vocation as a writer. 

When he came to us at Monterey he was newly 
arrived in this country, and seemed to be in a rather 
peculiar state of mind concerning it, complaining 
that it was too much like England to have the piquancy 
of a foreign land, and yet not enough like it to have 
the restfulness of home, therefore it left him with a 
strange, unsatisfied feeling. One of the things in the 
new land that pleased him much was its food, for he 
believed in enjoying the good things of this life, and 



58 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

he was like a second Christopher Columbus, just dis- 
covering green corn and sweet potatoes. In a letter 
to his friend Sidney Colvin he says: "In America 
yoH eat better than anywhere else; fact. The food 
is heavenly !" During his first days at Monterey he 
kept singing the praises of certain delectable "little 
cakes," which he had found much to his liking in the 
railroad ealing-houses while crossing the continent. 
These were a great mystery to us until one day Ah 
Sing, the Chinese cook, placed upon the table a plate 
of smoking-hot baking-powder biscuits. Behold the 
famous "little cakes"! 

The unexpected discovery in the town of Jules 
Simoneau, to whom he refers in his letters as "a 
most pleasant old boy, with whom I discuss the uni- 
verse and play chess," a man of varied talents, who 
was able to furnish him with an excellent dinner, as 
well as the intelligent companionship that he valued 
more than food, was a great satisfaction to him. Often 
we all repaired together to Simoneau's little restau- 
rant, where we were served meals that were a rare 
combination of French and Spanish cookery, for our 
host's wife. Dona Martina, was a native of Mira- 
flores, in Lower California, and was skilled in the 
preparation of the iamales* and cariie con chile\ of 
the Southwest. It has always seemed to me that 
in the oft-told story of the friendship between Jules 
Simoneau and Robert Louis Stevenson but scant 

* Tamales, perhaps the most famous culinary product of the South- 
west, were probably of Indian origin. Their construction is too com- 
plicated to explain here, further than to say that they are made of corn- 
meal and chopped meat rolled in corn-husks and boiled. 

t Came con chile (meat with chile) is what its name indicates, a stew 
of meat and red peppers. 



IN CALIFORNIA 59 

justice has been done to that uncommonly fine woman 
Dona Martina, who, no doubt, had her part in caring 
for the writer when he lay so ill in Monterey. Per- 
haps more often than not it was her kind and s '^''ul 
hand that prepared the broth and smoothed the 
pillow for Don Roberto Luis, as she called him; and 
though she had but little book knowledge, she was, 
in her native good sense, her well-chosen language, 
and the dignity and courtesy of her manners, what 
people call a "born lady." Mrs. Stevenson was pro- 
foundly grateful to Jules Simoneau for his early 
kindness to her husband, and had a sincere admira- 
tion for his wife as well. When he fell into strait- 
ened circumstances in his old age, she went to his 
rescue and provided him with a comfortable living 
during his last years. When he died she followed 
him to his last resting-place, and afterwards erected 
a suitable monument to mark it, only stipulating that 
the name of Dona Martina should also be placed 
upon it, she having died some time before him. 

In the Senorita Bonifacio's garden, where we spent 
much of our time, there was a riot of flowers — rich 
yellow masses of enormous cloth-of-gold roses, delicate 
pink old-fashioned Castilian roses, which the Senorita 
carefully gathered each year to make rose-pillows, 
besides fuchsias as large as young trees, and a thou- 
sand other blooms of incredible size and beauty. 
Loving them all, their little Spanish mistress flitted 
about among them like a bird, alert, active, bright- 
eyed, straight as an arrow, and as springy of step as 
a girl of sixteen, although even then she was past her 
first youth. 

As to flowers, it seemed to me that they made no 



60 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

particular appeal to Mr. Stevenson except for their 
scent, in which he was very like the rest of his sex the 
world over. He cared rather for nature's larger 
effects — a noble cloud in the sky, the thunder of the 
surf on the beach, or the fresh resinous smell of the 
pine forest. 

To this house he came often of an afternoon to 
read the results of his morning's work to the assem- 
bled family. While we sat in a circle, listening in 
appreciative silence, he nervously paced the room, 
reading aloud in his full sonorous voice — a voice that 
always seemed remarkable in so frail a man — his face 
flushed and his manner embarrassed, for, far from 
being overconfident about his work, he always seemed 
to feel a sort of shy anxiety lest it should not be up 
to the mark. He invariably gave respectful atten- 
tion and careful consideration to the criticism of the 
humblest of his hearers, but in the end clung with 
Scotch pertinacity to his own opinion if he was 
sure of its justice. In this way we heard The Pavilion 
on the Links, which he wrote at Monterey, and read 
to us chapter by chapter as they came from his pen. 
While there he also began another story which was 
to have been called Arizona Breckinridge, or A Ven- 
detta in the West. This story, with its rather lurid 
title, was to have been based upon some of his im- 
pressions of western America, but his heart could not 
have been in it, for it was never finished. The name 
of Arizona came out of his intense delight in the 
"songful, tuneful" nomenclature of the United States, 
in which terms he refers to it in Across the Plains. 
The name Susquehanna was a special joy to him, and 



IN CALIFORNIA 61 

he took pleasure in rolling it on his tongue, adding 
to its music with the rich tones of his voice, as he 
repeated it: "Susquehanna! Oh, beautiful !" While 
on the train passing through Pennsylvania he wrote 
some verses in a letter to Sidney Colvin about the 
beautiful river with the "tuneful" name, of which 
one stanza runs thus: 

"I think, I hope, I dream no more 
The dreams of otherwhere; 
The cherished thoughts of yore; 
I have been changed from what I was before; 
And drunk too deep perchance the lotus of the air 
Beside the Susquehanna and along the Delaware." 

Again, in writing the poem entitled Ticonderoga^ 
it was the name that first drew his attention, and 

"It sang in his sleeping ears. 
It hummed in his waking head; 
The name — Ticonderoga." 

Some story that we told him about a man who 
named his numerous family of daughters after the 
States — Indiana, Nebraska, California, etc. — took his 
fancy and suggested the name of Arizona Breckin- 
ridge to him. 

Out of the mist arise memories of walks along the 
beach — the long beach of clean white sand that 
stretches unbroken for many miles around the great 
sweeping curve of Monterey Bay, where we "watched 
the tiny sandy -pipers, and the huge Pacific seas.'* 
Sometimes we walked there at night, when the 
blood-red harvest-moon sprang suddenly like a great 



62 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

ball of fire above the rim of horizon on the opposite 
side of the circling bay, sending a glittering track 
across the water to our very feet. To walk with 
Stevenson on such a night, and watch "the waves 
come in slowly, vast and green, curve their trans- 
lucent necks and burst with a surprising uproar" — 
to walk with him on such a night and listen to his 
inimitable talk is the sort of memory that cannot 
fade. On other nights when the waters of the bay 
were all alight with the glow of phosphorescence, we 
walked on the old wooden pier and marvelled at the 
billows of fire sent rolling in beneath us by the splash- 
ing porpoises. 

Perhaps nothing about the place interested him 
more deeply than the old mission of San Carlos 
Borromeo, once the home of the illustrious Junipero 
Serra, and now the last resting-place of his earthly 
remains. Within its ruined walls mass was cele- 
brated once a year in honour of its patron. Saint 
Charles Borromeo, and after the religious service 
was over the people joined in a joyous merienda* 
under the trees, during which vast quantities of 
tamales, enchiladas,'\ and other distinctive Spanish- 
American viands were generously distributed to 
friend and stranger, Catholic and Protestant. Mr. 
Stevenson attended one of these celebrations, and 
was greatly moved by the sight of the pitiful remnant 
of aged Indians, sole survivors of Father Serra's once 
numerous flock, as they lifted their quavering voices 

* Merienda — noonday luncheon. 

t Enchiladas are a sort of corn-meal pancake rolled up and stuffed 
with cheese and a sauce made of red peppers. 



IN CALIFORNIA 63 

m the mass. He expressed much surprise at the 
clarity of their pronunciation of the Latin, and in his 
essay on The Old Pacific Capital, he says: "There 
you may hear God served with perhaps more touch- 
ing circumstances than in any other temple under 
Heaven. . . . These Indians have the Gregorian 
music at their finger-ends, and pronounce the Latin 
so correctly that I could follow the music as they 
sang." Much has been changed since then, for the 
church has been "restored," and the little band of 
Indians have long since quavered out their last mass 
and gone to meet their beloved pastor, the saintly 
Serra. 

Those were dolce-far-niente days at Monterey, 
dreamy, romantic days, spent beneath the bluest 
sky, beside the bluest sea, and in the best company 
on earth, and all glorified by the rainbow hues of 
youth. But, as Mr. Stevenson prophesied, the little 
town was "not strong enough to resist the influence 
of the flaunting caravanserai which sprang up in the 
desert by the railway," and after the coming of the 
fashionable hotel the commercial spirit came to life 
in the place. The tile-topped walls, hiding their 
sweet secluded gardens, gave way to the new frame 
or brick buildings, the narrow, crooked streets were 
straightened and graded, the breakneck sidewalks 
replaced by neat cement pavements, and, at last, 
the Spirit of Romance spread her wings and vanished 
into the mists of the Pacific. 

The setting of the picture is now changed to Oak- 
land, across the bay from San Francisco, where we 
lived for some months in the little house which Mr. 



64 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

Stevenson himself describes in the dedication to 
Prince Otto as "far gone in the respectable stages of 
antiquity, and which seemed indissoluble from the 
green garden in which it stood, and that yet was a 
sea-traveller in its younger days, and had come 
round the Horn piecemeal in the belly of a ship, and 
might have heard the seamen stamping and shouting 
and the note of the boatswain's whistle." This cot- 
tage was of the variety known as "cloth and paper," 
a flimsy construction permitted by the kindly climate 
of California, and on winter nights, when the wind 
blew in strongly from the sea, its sides puffed in and 
out, greatly to the amusement of the "Scot," accus- 
tomed as he was to the solid buildings of his native 
land. It was, as he says, "embowered in creepers," 
for over its front a cloth-of-gold rose spread its cling- 
ing arms, and over one side a Banksia flung a curtain 
of green and yellow. 

It was during his stay in this house that we first 
realized the serious nature of his illness, and yet there 
was none of the depressing atmosphere of sickness, 
for he refused to be the regulation sick man. Every 
day he worked for a few hours at least, while I acted 
as amanuensis in order to save him the physical labour 
of writing. In this way the first rough draught of 
Prince Otto was written, and here, too, he tried his 
hand at poetry, producing some of the poems that 
afterwards appeared in the collection called Under- 
woods, although it is certain that he never believed 
himself to be possessed of the true poetic fire. Brave 
as his spirit was, yet he had his dark moments when 
the dread of premature death weighed upon him. 



IN CALIFORNIA 65 

It was probably in such a mood that he wrote the 
poem called Not Yet, My Soul, an appeal to fate in 
which he expressed his rebellion against an untimely 
end. 

"Not yet, my soul, these friendly fields desert. 

The ship rides trimmed, and from the eternal shore 
Thou hearest airy voices; but not yet 
Depart, my soul, not yet awhile depart. 

Leave not, my soul, the unfoughten field, nor leave 
Thy debts dishonored, nor thy place desert 
Without due service rendered. For thy life, 
Up, spirit, and defend that fort of clay. 
Thy body, now beleaguered." 

While engaged in dictating, he had a habit of 
walking up and down the room, his pace growing 
faster and faster as his enthusiasm rose. We feared 
that this was not very good for him, so we quietly 
devised a scheme to prevent it, without his knowledge, 
by hemming him in with tables and chairs, so that 
each time he sprang up to walk he sank back dis- 
couraged at sight of the obstructions. When I re- 
call the sleepless care with which Mrs. Stevenson 
watched over him at that critical point in his life, it 
seems to me that it is not too much to say that the 
world owes it to her that he lived to produce his best 
works. 

But above and beyond his wife's care for his physi- 
cal well-being was the strong courage with which she 
stood by him in his hours of gloom and heartened him 
up to the fight. Her profound faith in his genius 



66 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

before tlie rest of the world had come to recognize 
it had a great deal to do with keeping up his faith 
in himself, and her discriminating taste in literature 
was such that he had begun even then to submit all 
his writings to her criticism. 

Although his own life work lay entirely in the field 
of letters, he had a sincere admiration for work with 
the hands, and often expressed his surprise at the 
mechanical cleverness of American women. He took 
pleasure in seeing that we could cut, fit, and make 
our own clothing, and do a pretty good job of it, 
too, and looked on at the operation with serious in- 
terest, sometimes making useful suggestions, for he 
had a genuine and unaffected sympathy with the 
work and aims of other people, no matter how humble 
they might be. Any one could go to him with a 
tale of daily struggle, of little ambitions bravely 
fought for, even though it were nothing more than 
a job as waiter in a restaurant, and be sure of his 
respectful consideration and sincere advice, always 
granting that the ambition were honest and the fight 
well fought. 

Sickness and discouragement were not enough to 
keep down his boyish gaiety, which he sometimes 
manifested by teasing his womenfolk. One of his 
favourite methods of doing this was to station him- 
self on a chair in front of us, and, with his brown eyes 
lighted up with a whimsical smile, talk broad Scotch, 
in a Highland nasal twang, by the hour, until we cried 
for mercy. Yet he was decidedly sensitive about 
that same Scotch, and his feelings were much wounded 
by hearing me express a horror of reading it in books. 



IN CALIFORNIA 67 

A pleasant trivial circumstance of our life that comes 
to mind is an occasion when we were all rejoicing in 
the possession of new clothes — a rare event with any 
of us in those days, and Louis proposed that we 
should celebrate this extraordinary prosperity by an 
evening at the theatre. Women wore pockets then, 
but there had been no time to provide my dress with 
one, so Louis agreed to carry my handkerchief, but 
only on condition that I should ask for it when 
needed in a true Scotch twang, " Gie me the naepkin ! " 
a condition that I was compelled to fulfill, no doubt to 
the surprise of our neighbours at the theatre. Gil- 
bert and Sullivan were in their heyday then, and the 
play given that night was The Pirates of Penzance. 
Louis said the London "bobbies" were true to life. 

Chief among the amusements with which we tried 
to brighten the extreme quietude of our lives in the 
little Oakland house was reading aloud. We obtained 
books from the Mercantile Library of San Francisco, 
among which I especially remember the historical 
works of Francis Parkman, who was a great favourite 
with Mr. Stevenson. He had a theory that the not 
uncommon distaste among the people for that branch 
of literature was largely the fault of the dull style 
adopted by many historians, and saw no good reason 
why the thrilling story of the great events of the world 
should not be presented in a manner that would hold 
the interest of readers. Yet he had no patience with 
the sort of writing that subordinates truth to the de- 
sire of presenting a striking picture. As an instance, 
certainly of rare occurrence in Parkman, he noticed 
a paragraph in The Conspiracy of Pontiac, in which 



68 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

the author refers to the shining of the moon on a 
certain night when a party was endeavouring to make 
a secret passage down the river through hostile coun- 
try. He thought it unlikely that Parkman could 
have known that the moon shone on that particular 
night, though it is possible that he did him an injus- 
tice, for it sometimes happens that just such a trivial 
circumstance is mentioned in the documents of the 
early explorers. 

Sometimes he read aloud to us from some French 
writer, translating it into English as he read for our 
benefit. Les Etrangleurs was one of the books that 
he read to us in this way, while we sat and sewed our 
seams. He seemed to get a good deal of rest as well 
as amusement from the reading of such books of 
mystery and adventure. His taste was always for 
the decent in literature, and he was much offended 
by the works of the writers of the materialistic school 
who were just then gaining a vogue. Among these 
was Emile Zola, and he exacted a promise from me 
never to read that writer — a promise that has been 
faithfully kept to this day. 

His stay at Monterey had given him a fancy to 
study the Spanish language, so we obtained books and 
began it together. He had a theory that a language 
could be best acquired by plunging directly into it, 
but I have a suspicion that our choice of a drama of 
the sixteenth century, one of Lope de Vega's, I think, 
was scarcely a wise one for beginners. He refers to 
this venture of ours in a letter to Sidney Colvin as 
"the play which the sister and I are just beating our 
way through with two bad dictionaries and an in- 



IN CALIFORNIA 69 

sane grammar." Nevertheless, we made some head- 
way, and I remember that he marvelled greatly at 
the far-fetched, high-flown similes and figures of 
speech indulged in by the writers of the "Golden 
Age" of Spain. In spite of his confessed dislike for 
the cold-blooded study of the grammar, we did not 
altogether neglect it, and a day comes to my mind 
when he was assisting me in the homely task of 
washing the dishes in the pleasant sunny kitchen 
where the Banksia rose hung its yellow curtain over 
the windows. We recited Spanish conjugations while 
we worked, and he held up a glass for my inspection, 
saying: "See how beautifully I have polished it, 
Nellie. There is no doubt that I have missed my 
vocation. I was born to be a butler." "No, Louis," 
I replied, "some day you are to be a famous writer, 
and who knows but that I shall write about you, as 
the humble Boswell wrote about Johnson, and tell 
the world how you once wiped dishes for me in this 
old kitchen!" 

For the long evenings of winter we had a game 
which Louis invented expressly for our amusement. 
Lloyd Osbourne, then a boy of twelve, had rather 
more than the usual boy's fondness for stories of the 
sea. It will be remembered that it was to please this 
boy that Mr. Stevenson afterwards wrote Treasure 
Island. Our game was to tell a continued story, each 
person being limited to two minutes, taking up the 
tale at the point where the one before him left ofiF. 
We older ones had a secret understanding that we 
were to keep Lloyd away from the sea, but strive as 
we might, even though we left the hero stranded in 



70 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

the middle of the Desert of Sahara, Lloyd never 
failed to have him sailing the bounding main again 
before his allotted two minutes expired. 

Many and long were the arguments that we had 
on the merits of our respective countries, and I re- 
member that Mr. Stevenson did not place the senti- 
ment of patriotism at the top of the list of human 
virtues, for he believed that to concentrate one's 
affections and interest too closely upon one small 
section of the earth's surface, simply on account of 
the accident of birth, had a narrowing effect upon a 
man's mental outlook and his human sympathies. 
He was a citizen of the world in his capacity to under- 
stand the point of view of other men, of whatsoever 
race, colour, or creed, and it was this catholicity of 
spirit that made it possible for him to sit upon the 
benches of Portsmouth Square in San Francisco and 
learn something of real life from the human flotsam 
and jetsam cast up there by fate. 

Of all the popular songs of America he liked 
Marching Through Georgia and Dixie best. For 
Home, Sweet Home he had no liking, perhaps from 
having heard it during some moment of poignant 
homesickness. He said that such a song made too 
brutal an assault upon a man's tenderest feelings, 
and believed it to be a much greater triumph for a 
writer to bring a smile to his readers than a tear — 
partly, perhaps, because it is a more difficult achieve- 
ment. 

Here the scene changes again, this time to San 
Francisco, the city of many hills, of drifting summer 
fogs, and sparkling winter sunshine, the old city that 



IN CALIFORNIA 71 

now lives only in the memories of those who knew it 
in the days when Stevenson climbed the steep ways 
of its streets. Although he had something about 
him of the ennui of the much-travelled man, and 
complained that 

"There's nothing under heaven so blue. 
That's fairly worth the travelling to," 

yet no attraction was lost on him, and the Far West- 
ern flavour of San Francisco, with its added tang of 
the Orient, and the feeling of adventure blowing in 
on its salt sea-breezes, was much to his liking. My 
especial memory here is of many walks taken with 
him up Telegraph Hill, where the streets were grass- 
grown because no horse could climb them, and the 
sidewalks were provided with steps or cleats for the 
assistance of foot-passengers. This hill, formerly 
called "Signal Hill," was used in earlier days, on ac- 
count of its commanding outlook over the sea, as a 
signal-station to indicate the approach of vessels 
and give their class, and possibly their names as they 
neared the city. When we took our laborious walks 
up its precipitous paths it was, as now, the especial 
home of Italians and other Latin people. Mr. Steven- 
son wondered much at the happy-go-lucky confidence, 
or perhaps it was their simple trust in God, with 
which these people had built their houses in the most 
alarmingly insecure places, sometimes hanging on the 
very edge of a sheer precipice, sometimes with the 
several stories built on different levels, climbing the 
hill like steps. About them there was a pleasant air 



72 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

of foreign quaintness — little railed balconies across 
the fronts, outside stairways leading up to the second 
stories, and green blinds to give a look of Latin 
seclusion. 

In stories of his San Francisco days there is much 
talk of the restaurants where he took his meals. 
The one that I particularly remember was a place 
kept by Frank Garcia, familiarly known as "Frank's." 
This place, being moderately expensive, was probably 
only frequented by him on special occasions, when 
fortune was in one of her smiling moods. Food was 
good and cheap and in large variety in San Fran- 
cisco in those days, and venison steak was as often 
served up to us at Frank's as beef, while canvasback 
ducks had not yet flown out of the poor man's sight; 
so we had many a savory meal there, generally served 
by a waiter named Monroe, with whom Mr. Steven- 
son now and then exchanged a friendly jest. I re- 
member one day when Monroe, remarking on the 
depression of spirits from which Louis suffered dur- 
ing the temporary absence of the women of his family, 
said: "I had half a mind to take him in a piece of 
calico on a plate." 

Once more the picture changes, now to the town 
of Calistoga — with its hybrid name made up of sylla- 
bles from Saratoga and California — where we stayed 
for a few days at the old Springs Hotel while on our 
way to Mount Saint Helena, to which mountain 
refuge Mr. Stevenson was fleeing from the sea-fogs 
of the coast. The recollection of this journey seems 
to have melted into a general impression of winding 
mountain roads, of deep canyons full of tall green 



IN CALIFORNIA 73 

trees, of lovely limpid streams rippling over the stones 
in darkly shaded depths where the fern-brakes grew 
rankly, of burning summer heat, and much dust. At 
the Springs Hotel we lived in one of the separate 
palm-shaded cottages most agreeably maintained for 
the guests who liked privacy. On the premises were 
tiny sheds built over the steaming holes in the ground 
which constituted the Calistoga Hot Springs. It gave 
one a sensation like walking about on a sieve over 
a boiling subterranean caldron. Determined not to 
miss any experience, we each took a turn at a steam- 
bath in these sheds, but the sense of imminent suffoca- 
tion was too strong to be altogether pleasant. 

Then came the wild ride up the side of the moun- 
tain, in a six-horse stage driven at a reckless rate of 
speed by its indifferent driver, whirling around curves 
where the outer wheels had scarcely an inch to spare, 
while we looked fearfully down upon the tops of the 
tall trees in the canyon far below. If the horses 
slackened their pace for an instant, the driver stooped 
to pick up a stone from a pile that he kept at his 
feet and bombarded them into a fresh spurt. At the 
Toll House, half-way up the mountain, which still 
exists in much the same condition as in those days, 
we arrived as mere animated pillars of fine white 
dust, all individuality as completelj' lost as though we 
had been shrouded in masks and dominoes. 

The Toll House was a place of somnolent peace 
and deep stillness, broken only by a pleasant drip- 
ping from the wooden flume that brought down the 
cold waters of some spring hidden in the thick green 
growth far up on the mountainside. And such 



74 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

water ! He who has once tasted of the nectar of a 
Cahfornia mountain spring "will not ask for wine!" 
At the Toll House we had liberal country meals, with 
venison steaks, served to us every day. Bear were 
still killed on the mountain, but I do not remember 
having any to eat. From this place we climbed, by 
way of a toilsome and stiflingly hot footpath running 
through a tangle of thick undergrowth, to the old 
Silverado mine bunk-house, where the Stevenson 
family took up their headquarters. People said there 
were many rattlesnakes about, and now and then 
we saw indubitable evidence of their presence in a 
long, spotted body lying in the road, where it had 
been killed by some passer-by, but fear of them never 
troubled our footsteps. In The Silverado Squatters 
Mr. Stevenson says, "The place abounded with 
rattlesnakes, and the rattles whizzed on every side 
like spinning-wheels," but I am inclined to think that 
he often mistook the buzzing noise made by locusts, 
or some other insect, for the rattle of the snakes. 

The old bunk-house seemed to me an incredibly 
uncomfortable place of residence. Its situation, on 
top of the mine-dump piled against the precipitous 
mountainside, permitted no chance to take a step 
except upon the treacherous rolling stones of the 
dump; but we bore with its manifest disadvantages 
for the sake of its one high redeeming virtue — its 
entire freedom from the fog which we dreaded for 
the sick man. It was excessively hot there during 
the day, but there was one place where coolness always 
held sway — the mouth of the old tunnel, from whose 
dark, mysterious depths, which we never dared ex- 



IN CALIFORNIA 75 

plore for fear of stepping off into some forgotten 
shaft, a cold, damp wind blew continuously. Just 
inside its entrance we established a cold-storage plant, 
for there all articles kept delightfully fresh in the 
hottest weather. When the coolness of the evening 
fell, "it was good to gather stones and send them 
crashing down the chute," and indeed this was almost 
our only pastime in our queer mountain eyrie. The 
noise made by these stones as they went bounding 
down the chute was sent back in tremendous rolling 
echoes by the mountains on the opposite side of the 
valley, and it pleased us to liken it to the noise heard 
by Rip Van Winkle, "like distant peals of thunder," 
made by the ghosts of Hendrik Hudson's men play- 
ing at ninepins in the Catskill Mountains. 

Then back to San Francisco, where the only mem- 
ory that remains is that of a confused blur of prepa- 
rations for leaving — packing, ticket-buying, and mel- 
ancholy farewells — for the time had come to return 
to old Scotland to introduce a newly acquired Ameri- 
can wife to waiting parents. 

One day Louis came in with his pockets full of 
twenty-dollar gold pieces, with which he had supplied 
himself for the journey. He thought this piece of 
money the handsomest coin in the world, and said 
it made a man feel rich merely to handle it. In a 
jesting mood, he drew the coins from his pockets, 
threw them on the table, whence they rolled right 
and left on the floor, and said: "Just look! I'm 
simply lousy wid money!" 

Then came the parting, which proved to be eternal, 
for I never saw him again; but perhaps it is better 



76 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

to remember him only as he was then — before the 
rainbow hues of youth had faded. 

To this picture, which represents my own personal 
recollections of the California period,* something yet 
remains to be added. Many obstacles seemed to 
block the path to happiness of these two people, not 
the least of which was Louis's ill health and conse- 
quent inability to earn a sufficient sum to support 
new obligations. To his great joy this difficulty was 
finally smoothed away by a promise from his father 
of an allowance large enough for their needs until 
such time as restored health might bring about his 
independence. I remember the day this word came 
from his father, and the exceeding happiness it gave 
him. While it is true that his parents had at first 
objected to his marriage, their objections were based, 
not on the matter of the divorce, for they held ex- 
tremely liberal views on that subject, but simply 
on the fact of his choice being an American and a 
stranger. They would, quite naturally, have pre- 
ferred a daughter-in-law of their own race and ac- 
quaintance, but both were intensely attached to 
their only and gifted son, and, although his decision 
caused their own plans to "gang agley," when they 
found that his mind was irrevocably made up, they 
yielded without reserve, and prepared to welcome 
their new daughter to their home and hearts. Writ- 
ing at this time to his friend Mr. Edmund Gosse, 
Stevenson expressed his satisfaction at the turn affairs 
were taking in these words: 

"Many of the thunderclouds that were overhanging 

* Previously published in Scribners Magazine, October, 1916. 



IN CALIFORNIA 77 

me when last I wrote have silently stolen away, like 
Longfellow's Arabs; and I am now engaged to be 
married to the woman whom I have loved for three 
years and a half. I will boast myself so far as to 
say that I do not think many wives are better loved 
than mine will be." 

When the rain-clouds at last rolled away, and the 
snow had melted from the mountain-tops in the 
Coast Range, Fanny Osbourne and Robert Louis 
Stevenson went quietly across the bay and were 
married, on May 19, 1880, by the Reverend Mr. 
Scott, with only Mrs. Scott and Mrs. Virgil Williams 
as witnesses. It was a serious, rather than a joyous 
occasion, for both realized that a future overcast 
with doubt lay before them. In 1881 Stevenson 
wrote from Pitlochry in Scotland to Mr. P. G. 
Hamerton : 

"It was not my bliss that I was interested in when 
I was married; it was a sort of marriage in extremis; 
and if I am where I am, it is thanks to the care of 
that lady, who married me when I was a mere com- 
plication of cough and bones, much fitter for an 
emblem of mortality than a bridegroom." 

As for her, she married him when his fortunes, 
both in health and finances, were at their lowest ebb, 
and she took this step in the almost certain convic- 
tion that in a few months at least she would be a 
widow. The best that she hoped for was to make 
his last days as comfortable and happy as possible, 
and that her self-sacrifice was to receive the bounti- 
ful reward of fourteen rich years in his companion- 
ship, during which time she was to see him win fame 



•^S LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

and fortune by the exercise of his genius, was far 
from lier dreams. 

At the time of their marriage they took with them 
Mrs. Stevenson's son, Samuel Lloyd Osbourne, her 
daughter having been married a short time before to 
Joseph Strong, a well-known artist of the Pacific 
Coast. Mr. Stevenson took this boy, then about 
twelve years of age, to his heart as his own. In fact 
he always counted it as one of the blessings that 
came through his wife that she brought to him, a 
childless man, a son and daughter to be a comfort 
to him in all the years of his life. In his talk at his 
last Thanksgiving dinner he referred to this as one 
of his chief reasons for gratitude. 

In the healing air of Mount Saint Helena the in- 
valid grew better with astonishing rapidity, and at 
the end of June he wrote to his mother: 

"You must indeed pardon me. This life takes up 
all my time and strength. I am truly better; I am 
allowed to do nothing, never leave our little platform 
in the canyon nor do a stroke of work. No one to 
see me now would think I was an invalid." 

When, in 1883, his mother expressed surprise that 
such a rough place should have been chosen for his 
cure, her daughter-in-law answered: 

"You wonder at my allowing Louis to go to such 
a place. Why, if you only knew how thankful I 
was to get there with him ! I was told that nothing 
else would save his life, and I believe it was true. 
We could not afford to go to a 'mountain resort* 
place, and there was no other chance. Then, on the 
other hand, the next day I put in doors and windows 




Fiinny Osljourno at tlio time of hor marriage to 
Robert Louis Stevenson 



IN CALIFORNIA 79 

of light frames covered with white cotton, with bits 
of leather from the old boots (miners' boots found in 
the deserted cabin) for hinges, made seats and beds, 
and got things to look quite homelike. We got white 
and red wine, dried peaches and fruits which we kept 
cool in the tunnel and which we enjoyed extremely. 
Louis says nothing about the flowers, but the beauty 
of them was beyond description, to say nothing of the 
perfume. At the back door was a thicket of trees 
covered with cream-colored and scarlet lilies. I 
have never seen the like anywhere in the world." 

Again she writes from Calistoga, July 16, 1880, to 
the yet unknown mother-in-law: 

"As to my dear boy's appearance, he improves 
every day in the most wonderful way, so that I fancy 
by the time you see him you will hardly know that 
he has ever been ill at all. I do try to take care of 
him; the old doctor insists that my nursing saved 
him; I cannot quite think it myself, as I shouldn't 
have known what to do without the doctor's advice, 
but even having it said is a pleasure to me. Taking 
care of Louis is, as you must know, very like angling 
for shy trout; one must understand when to pay out 
the line, and exercise the greatest caution in drawing 
him in. I am becoming most expert, though it is 
an anxious business. I do not believe that any of 
Louis's friends, outside of his own family, have ever 
realized how very low he has been; letters followed 
him continually, imploring, almost demanding his 
immediate return to England, when the least fatigue, 
the shortest journey, might, and probably would, 
have proved fatal; and, which at the moment filled 



80 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

my heart with bitterness against them, they actually 
asked for work. Now, at last, I think he may ven- 
ture to make the journey without fear, though every 
step must be made cautiously. I am sure now that 
he is on the high road to recovery and health, and I 
believe his best medicine will be the meeting with 
you and his father, for whom he pines like a child. 
I have had a sad time through it all, but it has been 
worse for you, I know. I am now able to say that all 
things are for the best. Louis has come out of this 
illness a better man than he was before; not that I 
did not think him good always, but the atmosphere 
of the valley of the shadow is purifying to a true soul; 
and though he may be no nearer your hearts than 
before, I believe you will take more comfort in your 
son than you have ever done. I trust that in about 
two weeks we shall be able to start, and perhaps in 
less time than that. Please remember that my pho- 
tograph is flattering; unfortunately all photographs 
of me are; I can get no other. At the same time 
Louis thinks me, and to him I believe I am, the 
most beautiful creature in the world. It is because 
he loves me that he thinks that, so I am very glad. 
I do so earnestly hope that you will like me, but that 
can only be for what I am to you after you know me, 
and I do not want you to be disappointed in the be- 
ginning in anything about me, even in so small a 
thing as my looks. Your fancy that I may be a 
business person is a sad mistake. I am no better 
in that respect than Louis, and he has gifts that com- 
pensate for any lack. I fear it is only genius that is 
allowed to be stupid in ordinary things." 



IN CALIFORNIA 81 

In this letter the natural trepidation with which 
she looked forward to the meeting with her husband's 
parents, divided as they were from her in race and 
customs, is evident. She was, as she confessed to 
some of her friends, quite terrified at the prospect, 
especially as concerned the elder Mr. Stevenson, 
whose portrait represented a serious Scotchman with 
a stern, almost forbidding face, firm mouth, and long 
upper lip. Her fear of her mother-in-law was less, 
for from her she had had many affectionate and re- 
assuring letters. How utterly groundless her appre- 
hensions were in this matter we shall see later. 

Notwithstanding the uncertainty of the future that 
lay before them, they were both exceedingly happy 
in the fruition of their long-frustrated plans, and for 
her it lifted a cloud that had rested upon her spirits 
for years. One day in San Francisco, shortly after 
the marriage, her daughter, upon entering a room, 
stopped with a sudden shock, startled by the unac- 
customed sound of a light happy laugh, the first she 
remembered ever having heard from the lips of her 
mother. For the first time she realized what a sad 
and bitter life Fanny Osbourne's had been. 

Louis's health now being considered strong enough 
for the journey, they left their sunny eyrie on the 
mountainside in July, and on August 7, 1880, sailed 
from New York for England. 



CHAPTER VI 
EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 

When the newly married pair reached Scotland all 
the fears of the American bride vanished like mist 
before the sun, for her husband's parents instantly 
took her to their hearts as though she had been their 
own choice. In The Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson 
Sir Sidney Colvin says: 

"Of her new family Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson, 
brought thus strangely and from afar into their midst, 
made an immediate conquest. To her husband's 
especial happiness, there sprang up between her and 
his father the closest possible affection and confidence. 
Parents and friends, if it is permissible for one of the 
latter to say as much, rejoiced to recognize in Steven- 
son's wife a character as strong, as interesting, and 
romantic as his own; an inseparable sharer of all his 
thoughts, and staunch companion of all his adven- 
tures; the most open-hearted of friends to all who 
loved him, the most shrewd and stimulating critic 
of his work; and in sickness . . . the most devoted 
and eflScient of nurses." 

Mr. Edmund Gosse writes in the Century MagazinCy 
1895: 

"He had married in California a charming lady 

whom we all learned to regard as the most appropriate 

and helpful companion that Louis could possibly have 

secured." 

82 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 83 

Concerning her relations with her mother-in-law, 
another friend, Lady Balfour, writes: 

"It is a testimonial both to her and to Mrs. Thomas 
Stevenson that though they were as the poles apart 
in character, yet each loved and appreciated the other 
most fully." How different they were in training 
and ideas of life is illustrated by a trivial incident 
that occurred when the younger woman was visiting 
at the home of her husband's parents in Scotland. 
Her mother-in-law asked her if she never "worked." 
In some surprise she replied that she had indeed 
worked, and then found out that the elder lady 
meant fancy-work. Thereupon the two went out 
shopping and bought all the things needful for a 
piano-cover to be embroidered with roses. In a few 
days the piano-cover, exquisitely finished, was tri- 
umphantly brought for Mrs. Thomas Stevenson's 
inspection, but that lady, shocked at this American 
strenuousness, threw up her hands and exclaimed: 
"Oh, Fanny! How could you! That piece* should 
have lasted you all summer!" 

Thomas Stevenson, however, was far more for- 
midable; to the female members of his family his 
word was law, but to his pretty daughter-in-law he 
capitulated — horse, foot, and dragoons — and his son 
was heard to say that he had never seen his father 
so completely subjugated. It is true, on the other 
hand, that she made every effort to please him, and 
took pains not to offend his old-fashioned and rigidly 
conventional ideas. For instance, when he objected 
to black stockings, which were just then coming into 
vogue for ladies, she yielded to his prejudice and 



84 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

always wore white ones while at his house. He had 
a deep respect for her judgment in literary matters, 
and made his son promise "never to publish any- 
thing without her approval." This regard was mu- 
tual, and she said of him: "I shall always believe that 
something unusual and great was lost to the world 
in Thomas Stevenson. One could almost see the 
struggle between the creature of cramped hereditary 
conventions and the man nature had intended him 
to be." As his health failed he grew to depend upon 
her more and more, and there was between them an 
interchange of much friendliness and many little 
jests. A rather amusing thing happened once when 
the two were together in London picking out furnish- 
ings for the house he had bought for her at Bourne- 
mouth. One afternoon they dropped in at a hotel 
for tea. It had been ordered by the doctors that 
he should have bicarbonate of soda in his tea, which 
it seems he did not like if he saw it put in, but if he 
did not see it never knew the difference. When the 
tea was brought his daughter-in-law, having diverted 
his attention, slyly dropped in the soda. Glancing 
up, she saw in the looking-glass the reflection of the 
horrified face of the waiter. When she told this 
story to her husband he immediately began to weave 
a thrilling plot around the suspicion that might have 
fallen upon her if her father-in-law had happened 
to die suddenly just then, especially as his son was 
his chief heir. Uncle Tom, as she usually called him, 
had all sorts of pet names for her, but the usual re- 
mark was "I doot ye're a besom." * She was in 

*In American phrase, a "bossy" person. 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 85 

all ways a true daughter to him, a comfort in his old 
age and last distressing illness, and when he died she 
mourned him sincerely. 

To the Scotch servants in her mother-in-law's house 
she was something of an enigma. One of them told 
her she "spoke English very well for a foreigner.'* 
One day she heard two of them talking about a 
Mr. McCollop who had just returned from Africa. 
"He's merrit a black woman," said one, and in a 
mirror the other was seen to point to Mrs. Steven- 
son's back and put her finger to her lips, as though 
to say: "Don't mention black wives before her!" 

It was soon seen that Louis could not face a Scotch 
winter, with its raw winds and cold, drizzling rains, 
and sometimes his wife felt regrets for the sunny 
perch on the California mountainside, where health 
and strength had once come back to him so marvel- 
lously. It was finally decided to try the dry, clear 
air of Davos Platz, in the high Alps of Switzerland, 
which was just then coming into prominence as a 
cure for lung diseases, and in October, 1880, the little 
family, husband, wife, and the boy, Lloyd Osbourne, 
set forth on the arduous journey thither. 

To see publishers and for other necessary business, 
they stopped in London on the way, where Mrs. 
Stevenson was much troubled lest her husband should 
suffer harm from the thick, foggy atmosphere and the 
fatigue of meeting people. Because he was too weak 
to see many visitors, she kept them off, which threw 
a sort of mystery about him, and led to his being 
called in London "the veiled prophet." The only 
persons she had trouble with were the doctors, who 



86 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

were themselves so fascinated by his conversation 
that they often stayed too long. The task of keeping 
his parents informed of his state was now added to 
her duties, and in letters to her mother-in-law from 
London she says: 

"As it is short and often that seems to be wanted, 
I thought I would send off a note to-night to say 
that if nothing happens we leave London to-morrow, 
and glad enough I shall be to get away. . . . For 
no one in the world will I stop in London another 
hour after the time set. It is a most unhealthful 
place at this season, and Louis knows far too many 
people to get a moment's rest. . . . Company comes 
in at all hours from early morning till late at night, 
so that I almost never have a moment alone, and if 
we do not soon get away from London I shall become 
an embittered woman. It is not good for my mind, 
nor my body either, to sit smiling at Louis's friends 
until I feel like a hypocritical Cheshire cat, talking 
stiff nothings with one and another in order to let 
Louis have a chance with the one he cares the most 
for, and all the time furtively watching the clock and 
thirsting for their blood because they stay so late. . . .'* 

The vigilant eyes of love had taught her by this 
time something yet undiscovered by the scientists, 
that is, the contagious nature of influenza, and, hav- 
ing observed that whenever her husband came in 
contact with any one suffering from a cold, he in- 
variably caught it — a very serious matter for one in 
his condition — she kept guard over him like a fiery 
little watch-dog, never allowing any one with a cold 
to enter the house. If she had one herself she kept 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 87 

away from him till it was over. There were many 
quarrels on the subject, for his friends, some of 
whom refused to recognize the necessity for such 
precautions, would be furious; but the worst trouble 
was with the doctors themselves, who would come to 
attend him with sneezing and snorting, and find their 
way blocked. One doctor said she was silly about 
it, for it was absolutely impossible to catch a cold 
from anything but an open window, or wet feet, or 
a draught. Her friends, or rather Louis's friends, 
were well trained in time, and she would sometimes 
get a message something like this: "I can't keep my 
engagement to see Louis to-day, for I have a cold, 
but as soon as I am over it I will let you know." 
Mr. Stevenson himself had a humourous way of re- 
ferring to persons with colds as "pizon sarpints,'* 
and strangers may have wondered to hear him say: 
"I'm not seeing my friend So-and-so just now, be- 
cause he's a pizon sarpint." Once at Saranac, in the 
Adirondack Mountains in America, their friends the 
Fairchilds came to see them, but, as both had colds, 
they were not permitted to enter, and conversed by 
signs with Mr. Stevenson through a closed window. 
They were good-natured, however, about what they 
probably regarded as Mrs. Stevenson's whim, and 
when both were well came again, waving from a dis- 
tance perfectly clean handkerchiefs as their passport. 

Having at last escaped from the dreaded London 
fogs, they reached Troyes in France, where Fanny's 
heart expanded under the brighter skies that brought 
back memories of her own land. She writes: "We 
have had lovely weather — warm, sunny, fragrant. 



88 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

I did not realize before how much like America France 
is. The sky seems so high, and the world so big and 
fresh." Reluctantly these two sun-loving people 
turned their steps from this pleasant place towards 
the frozen heights of Davos, where they arrived on 
November 4, and were pleased to find congenial 
friends in John Addington Symonds and his wife. 

Life was far from exciting in this remote place, and 
the shut-in feeling of its situation, enclosed by hills 
and with no outlook, sometimes made the sick man 
impatient, yet his health improved and he was even 
able to take part in outdoor sports, such as tobog- 
ganing. Mrs. Stevenson writes: 

"Life is most monotonous here, which is after all 
the best thing for Louis, although he tires of it some- 
times. We have had a few badly acted plays and 
one snowstorm; there was a quarrel between a lady 
and her son's tutor, and a lady lost a ring. Otherwise 
the current of our lives flows on without change. . . . 
I have made a couple of pretty caps for the ladies* 
bazaar, and if I can get the use of a sitting room will 
paint them some things. . . . We have an enormous 
porcelain stove like a monument that reaches from 
the floor to the ceiling. It has, however, to be fed 
only twice a day, and then not in great quantities. 
Louis has long boots and is very proud of them. 
He said himself that he looked like 'puss in boots,' 
but was much hurt because the suggestion was re- 
ceived as a good one. He thought we would say: 
' How ridiculous ! Why, you look just like a brig- 
and ! ' But the great thing is that the climate is 
doing Louis good. To have him recover entirely 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 89 

will be so splendid that I must murmur at nothing." 
The last is perhaps a reference to the bad eflFect of 
the altitude on her own health, for her heart was so 
severely affected that she was compelled to spend 
much of the time lying on a couch, and was finally 
obliged to go away for a time. 

These two were congenially alike in their careless 
indifference to the minor details of life. Neither ever 
dated a letter, and both invariably forgot all anni- 
versaries, even having to be reminded of their own 
wedding-day by his scandalized mother. What Mr. 
S. S. McClure called Fanny Stevenson's "robust, in- 
consequential philosophy of life" permitted her to 
accept with calm situations which would have driven 
another woman to distraction. Even in that sad 
colony of the sick she found compensations, and 
writing of this she says: 

"It is depressing to live with dying and suffering 
people all about you, but a sanatorium develops a 
great deal of human interest and sympathy. 
Every one knows what the others should do, and 
each among the patients helps to look after the rest. 
The path of duty always lies so plain before other 
people's feet. . . . Then there are always little 
kindnesses going on that warm the heart. The other 
morning I told Louis I had dreamed that Alfred 
Cornish had made him a present of his toboggan, 
and sure enough the first thing when Louis went out 
up came Cornish and presented him with the tobog- 
gan. I had never thought of such a thing and don't 
see why I dreamed it." 

At Davos they had a great deal of trouble with 



90 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

their little dog, Woggs, a beautiful but eccentric 
Skye terrier that had been given them by Sir Walter 
Simpson. Both were tenderly considerate of animals, 
and when this little creature was ill with a cankered 
ear they took turns sitting up at night with him. 
She writes of him: "Woggs is ill-tempered, and ob- 
stinate, and rather sly, but he is lovable and intelli- 
gent. I imagine that it is with dogs as with people — 
it is not for being good alone that we love them." 

Here Stevenson wrote but little. Of his work 
she says: 

"Louis Is worried because he thinks he cannot 
write as gracefully as he used to, but I believe his 
writing is more direct and stronger, and that when he 
is able to join his old style with the new he will do 
better work than he dreams of now. His later work 
is fuller of thought, more manly in every way." 

With the month of March came Mrs. Stevenson's 
birthday, and, to her great surprise and confusion, 
it was made the occasion of a general fete in which 
the whole colony took part. She thus describes the 
affair: 

"I was told there was to be a dance in the dining- 
room and cake and ices in my honor, so Louis and 
I went down in the evening. I watched the dancing 
awhile, when suddenly I found myself seated alone 
at the end of the room. Judge of my surprise, and 
I must confess, dismay, when I saw the two little 
Doney children, in Watteau costumes, looking just 
like bits of porcelain painting, coming down the center 
towards me, one bearing a large birthday cake and 
the other a bouquet of flowers. The beautiful little 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 91 

creatures dropped on their knees at my feet and pre- 
sented their offerings. I suppose I should have said 
something, but Louis said I did the best thing pos- 
sible; I only kissed both the darlings. Other people 
had had birthdays and only received congratulations, 
so I felt horribly embarrassed by all these grand doings 
in a public room, though I was very grateful for the 
friendly feelings of those who arranged the affair." 

The snow came late, but during the winter it lay 
deep and heavy on the ground, making the roads 
almost impassable and their isolation more complete. 
Both husband and wife began to feel an almost un- 
controllable depression amid these bleak surround- 
ings, aggravated as they were by many deaths 
among the . patients. As spring approached Mrs. 
Stevenson wrote: 

"Louis is not very well and not very ill. Spring, 
I think, sits upon him, and so also all these deaths 
and Bertie's* illness. As soon as he is a little stronger 
the doctor is going to send him to some place in the 
neighborhood for a change." 

And she, to whom warmth and colour were a very 
part of her nature, was an exotic, a lost tropic bird, 
in these icy mountains. In a letter to her mother-in- 
law her heart cried out: "I cannot deny that living 
here is like living in a well of desolation. Sometimes 
I feel quite frantic to look out somewhere, and almost 
as though I should suffocate. But may Davos for- 
give me ! It has done so much for Louis that I am 
ashamed to say anything against it." 

In the latter part of April their discontent went 

* The son of Mrs. Sitwell, now Lady Colvin. 



92 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

beyond endurance, and, believing his health now 
sufficiently improved to warrant the risk, they turned 
their steps once more towards their beloved France, 
where they spent a month between Barbizon, St. 
Germain, and Paris. 

In Paris their haunting Nemesis gave them a little 
breathing spell, and when Louis's strength permitted, 
they wandered about the streets in their own care- 
less, irresponsible fashion, having a delightful time 
poking into all sorts of strange places, in one of which 
he insisted on spending practically his last sou for 
an antique watch for which she had expressed ad- 
miration. "Now we'll starve," said she, but after 
reaching home he happened to put his hand in the 
pocket of an old coat and drew out an uncashed 
cheque which had been forgotten. One day when out 
alone she went into a dismal-looking pawn-shop in 
a part of the city that was not considered exactly 
safe. She was puzzled by the evident superiority 
of the proprietor to his surroundings, and when he 
invited her to follow him, she went without hesita- 
tion back through winding passages until they stepped 
out into a beautiful garden, where sat a charming 
invalid lady, wife of the pawnbroker. It seemed 
that they were people who had fallen from a high 
estate, and, through devotion to his wife, who was 
helplessly confined to her chair, he had for years kept 
the secret of his occupation from her, and she had 
lived in her garden like a fair flower, uncontaminated 
by the slums of Paris. In this shop Mrs. Stevenson 
bought four rich mahogany posts, part of an antique 
bedstead, which she used many years afterwards as 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 93 

pillars in tlie drawing-room of her San Francisco 
house. 

But alas, their pleasant jaunting soon came to an 
end, for Louis had a relapse which brought desperate 
disappointment to them both, and of which she writes 
to his mother: "I felt compelled to tell him that he 
must be prepared for whatever may happen. Natu- 
rally the poor boy yearned for his mother. I think it 
must be very sweet to you to have this grown-up 
man of thirty still clinging to you with his child love." 

The setback dashed their spirits so severely that 
his conscientious Scotch parents thought it their duty 
to lecture them on the sin of ingratitude for the bless- 
ings that were still theirs. In great contrition their 
daughter-in-law writes: 

"I was just about to write when a double letter 
from you and Mr. Tommy came to hand. When I 
read what Mr. Tommy said about gratitude I felt 
more conscience-stricken than words can express. 
Neither Louis nor I have any right to feel even an- 
noyed about anything. Certainly God has been 
good. I have seen others, apparently no more ill 
than Louis was at one time, laid in their graves, and 
I see others, quite as ill, struggling wearily for their 
daily bread. We see misery and wretchedness on 
every hand, and here we sit, none of it touching us, 
Louis feeling better, and both of us complaining shame- 
fully because in the smallest things the world does not 
go round smoothly enough for us. . . . I fancy we 
shall start for Scotland Tuesday, but will travel 
slowly on account of Louis's fatigue and nervous ex- 
haustion from the shaking of the train." 



94 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

Edinburgli was reached on May 31, 1881, and a few 
days later, accompanied by his mother, they went to 
Pitlochry, where they spent two months in Kinnaird 
Cottage, on the banks of a lovely river. This was a 
beautiful but inclement region, and cold winds and 
rain prevailed almost constantly. The two ladies 
never ventured out without umbrellas, and even then 
usually returned in a drenched condition. Imprisoned 
by the weather, the sick man was compelled to spend 
all his waking time in the sitting-room, where his con- 
finement was made the more penitential by the ab- 
sence of books. It happened that the only books 
in the house were two volumes of Voltaire, and these 
were taken from the younger pair one dreary Sunday 
by their stern parents as not proper "Sabba'-day'* 
reading. 

Thrown entirely on their own resources, they de- 
cided to write stories and read them to each other. 
These tales, coloured by the surroundings, were of a 
sombre cast. Here Thrawn Janet was begun. In a 
preface, written years later, Mrs. Stevenson gives a 
graphic description of the first writing of this gloomy 
but powerful story. 

"That evening is as clear in my memory as though 
it were yesterday — the dim light of our one candle, 
with the acrid smell of the wick that we had forgotten 
to snuff, the shadows in the corners of the 'lang, 
laigh, mirk chamber, perishing cauld,' the driving 
rain on the roof close above our heads, and the gusts 
of wind that shook our windows. The very sound of 
the names, 'Murdock Soulis, the Hangin' Shaw in 
the beild of the Black Hill, Balweary in the vale of 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 95 

Dule,' sent a 'cauld grue' along my bones. By the 
time the tale was finished my husband had fairly 
frightened himself, and we crept down the stairs 
clinging hand in hand like two scared children." 

"Weather wet, bad weather, still wet, afraid to go 
out, pouring rain," appeared almost constantly in 
Mrs. Thomas Stevenson's diary, and though Steven- 
son, whether inspired by home scenes or driven in upon 
himself for relief from the outer dreariness, did some 
of his best work here, it became clear that a more 
favourable spot must be sought. From Pitlochry 
they went to Braemar, but that place proved to be 
no improvement. Mrs. Stevenson writes of it in her 
preface to Treasure Island : 

"It was a season of rain and chill weather that we 
spent in the cottage of the late Miss McGregor, 
though the townspeople called the cold, steady, 
penetrating drizzle 'just misting.' In Scotland a 
fair day appears to mean fairly wet. *It is quite fair 
now,' they will say, when you can hardly distinguish 
the houses across the street. Queen Victoria, who 
had endeared herself greatly to the folk in the neigh- 
borhood, showed a true Scotch spirit in her indiffer- 
ence to the weather. Her Majesty was in the habit 
of driving out to take tea in the open, accompanied 
by a couple of ladies-in-waiting. The road to Bal- 
moral ran not far behind the late Miss McGregor's 
cottage, and as the Queen always drove in an open 
carriage, with her tea basket strapped on behind, 
we could see her pass very plainly. Our admiration 
for the sturdy old lady was very much tempered by 
our sympathy with the ladies-in-waiting, with whom 



96 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

driving backward on the front seat did not apparently 
agree. Their poor noses were very red, and the ex- 
pression of their faces anxious, not to say cross, as 
they miserably coughed and sneezed." 

At Braemar the working fever continued, and 
Treasure Island was planned, but when autumn 
came they fled before the Scotch mists, and once 
more wended their way to the frozen Alps, settling 
for the winter in the Chalet am Stein. From mist to 
snow was but a rueful change, but this time Louis's 
health seemed to gain greater benefit, and a reason- 
able amount of work was accomplished. 

So the level current of their lives flowed on through 
a rather mild winter, with an occasional /oi^n* wail- 
ing about their chalet as the "rocs might have wailed 
in the valley of diamonds," until one morning they 
heard a bird sing, and soon the snow on the higher 
levels began to melt and send the water with a rush 
down the sides of the streets. Almost in a breath 
the hill slopes about them turned as white with crocus 
blooms as they had been in their winter covering of 
snow. Into their hearts something of the springtime 
entered, and one day Louis sat singing beside his wife, 
who writes: *'I do not care for the music, but it makes 
me feel so happy to see him so well. When I wake in 
the morning I wonder what it is that brings such a 
glow to my heart, and then I remember!" 

Yet it was then, as the flowers began to bloom 
and the birds to sing, that many of those to whom 
they had become attached with the pitiful bond of a 
common aflSiction broke the slender cord that held 

* Fohn — a violent south wind in Switzerland. 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 97 

them to life and quietly slipped away. Of these she 
writes: "Louis is much cut up because a young man 
whom he liked and had been toboganning with has 
been found dead in his bed. Bertie still hovers be- 
tween life and death. Poor little Mrs. Doney is 
gone; my heart is sad for those two lovely little girls. 
In a place like this there are many depressing things, 
but it is encouraging to know that many are going 
away cured." 

Their own case had gone better, and Doctor Ruedi 
had given them leave "to live in France, fifteen miles 
as the crow flies from the sea, and if possible near a 
fir wood." 

In April they left the Alps and ventured back to 
their misty island, where they spent an unsatisfac- 
tory summer, moving from place to place in a fruit- 
less search for better weather. Several hemorrhages 
forced them to the conclusion that they must be 
once more on the wing, and as both felt an uncon- 
querable repugnance to spending another winter at 
bleak Davos, it was finally decided to go where their 
hearts led them, and seek a suitable place in the 
south of France. As Mrs. Stevenson was too ill 
just then to travel, the invalid, accompanied by his 
cousin, Mr. R. A. M. Stevenson, started about the 
middle of September, 1882, for Marseilles. The 
wife's anxiety, however, gave her little rest, and 
almost before she was able to stand she set out after 
him, arriving in an alarmed and fatigued condition, 
of which he wrote to his mother in his humourous 
way: "The wreck was towed into port yesterday 
evening at seven p. M. She bore the reversed ensign 



98 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

in every feature; the population of Marseilles, who 
were already vastly exercised, wept when they be- 
held her jury masts and helpless hull." 

To her mother-in-law she wrote from here: "This 
is a lovely spot, and I cannot tell you how my heart 
goes out to it. It is so like Indiana that it would 
not surprise me to hear my father or mother speak 
to me at any moment, and yet it is not like home 
either. The houses and the ships look foreign, but 
the color of the sky and the quality of the air, the 
corn, the grapes, the yellow pumpkins, the flowers, 
and the trees, are the same. Everything seems as it 
is at home, steeped in sunshine.'* 

In a few days they found a house, the Campagne 
Defli, in the suburbs of St. Marcel, "in a lovely spot, 
among lovely wooded and cliffy hills," where they 
fondly hoped their pursuing fate would forget them 
for a time. Of Campagne Defli she joyfully writes 
to her mother-in-law: "Of all the houses in the world 
I think I should choose this one. It is a garden of 
paradise, and I cannot tell you how I long to have 
you here to enjoy things with me. It is such happi- 
ness to be in a place that combines the features of 
the land where I was born and California, where I 
have spent the best years of my life." 

She set eagerly to work to turn this charming but 
neglected place into a pleasant home, directing ser- 
vants in the cleaning and scrubbing, hanging curtains 
over draughty doors, repapering walls, putting fresh 
coverings on old furniture, planting flowers and vege- 
tables in the garden — in fact, pouring out her Dutch 
housekeeping soul in a thousand and one ways. The 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 99 

French servants, amazed at these activities, thought 
she was very queer. Once when she was on a step- 
ladder, with a hammer in her hand, putting up some 
pictures, she heard some one whisper outside: "Elle 
estfolle.^' As the two servants came in she cried out 
indignantly, waving the hammer for emphasis, "Pas 
folle ! Beaucoup d'intelligence ! " and then, losing 
her balance, fell over, step-ladder and all, while the 
servants fled shrieking. To her mother-in-law she 
writes: "For Louis's birthday I found a violet bloom- 
ing at the back of the house, and yesterday I discov- 
ered in our reserve a large magnolia tree, the delight 
of my heart. I am continually finding something 
new." 

Two things were to her as a closed book: one was 
foreign languages and the other was music. She 
could not sing a note nor hardly tell one tune from 
another, yet she liked to listen to music. Her speak- 
ing voice was low, modulated, and sweet, but with 
few inflections, and her husband once compared it 
to the pleasantly monotonous flow of a running brook 
under ice. As to languages, although she never 
seemed able to acquire any extended knowledge of 
the tongue of any foreign land in which she dwelt, 
she always managed in some mysterious way of her 
own to communicate freely with the inhabitants. In 
Spanish she only learned si, yet, supplemented with 
much gay laughter and many expressive gesticula- 
tions, that one word went a long way. She writes 
amusingly of this difficulty from Marseilles: 

"Yesterday the servant and I went out shopping, 
which was difficult for me, but, although she knows 



100 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

no English, she seems to understand, as did the shop- 
keepers, my strange lingo. I had to put on the man- 
ner of an old experienced shopper and housekeeper, 
and count my change with great care, for it was im- 
portant that I should impress both the woman and 
the shop people with the notion that I knew what 
was what. I have been in town all day, making 
arrangements with butchers, buying an American 
stove — for the enormous gaudy French range is of 
no account whatever — and even went and got my 
luncheon in a restaurant, and all upon my pidgin 
French. To Louis's great amusement I sometimes 
address him in it. I bought some cups and saucers 
to-day of a man who said 'y^s' to all I said, while 
to all his remarks I answered *owi.* The servant 
we have is very anxious to please us, and I have 
finally got her to the length of bringing the knives 
to the table cleaned; she could hardly believe at first 
that I was serious in wanting clean knives when 
there was no company." 

It was very pleasant to her to be received every- 
where in France with a warm cordiality on the ground 
of her being an American, and she tells a little story 
about this in one of her letters: 

"When I went in search of doctors I arrived in 
town at an hour when they all refused to see me, 
being at luncheon. One man, however, had not yet 
come in, though his luncheon was waiting for him, 
so I waited too and caught him in his own hall. He 
was quite furious and said the most dreadful things 
to his servant because she had let me in. I sat in a 
chair and waited till he had done abusing her, and 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 101 

then politely explained my errand. After much 
beating about the bush, he gave me the information 
that I wanted, and then, to the astonishment of his 
servant, went downstairs with me and put me into 
my cab with the most impressive politeness. Just as 
I left he told me he had allowed me to break his rule 
and spoil his lunch because I was an American." 

To their deep disappointment, Louis's health 
gained little or nothing in this charming place, and 
for a time a heavy sadness fell upon his wife, and in 
desperation her thoughts turned towards the frozen 
Alps, which they both disliked and where she had 
suffered so much. She writes: "I am sorry to say 
that Louis has had another hemorrhage. I begin 
almost to think we had better go back to Davos and 
become Symondses* and just stay there. Symonds 
himself, however, has taken a cold and the weather 
there has not been good. I have news from Davos 
that the well people that we knew are all dead and 
the hopeless cases are all right." 

Trouble with drains now came to add to their fear 
that beautiful Campagne Defli would not do for 
their permanent home. An epidemic broke out in 
St. Marcel, and many died. Mrs. Stevenson, stricken 
with fear for her husband, hurried him off to Nice, 
while she, armed with a revolver, remained behind 
to keep guard over their effects, the situation of their 
place being lonely, and reports of robberies and even 
murder in the neighbourhood having reached them. 

In the next week or two a series of distressing events 

* Mr. Symonds never dared to leave Davos, but remained there until 
his death. 



102 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

took place which brought Mrs. Stevenson almost to 
the verge of nervous prostration. The night before 
her husband's departure a peasant on the estate died 
of the prevaiHng disease, and for some unknown 
reason the body, much swollen and disfigured, was 
permitted to lie just outside the gate during the 
entire morning. Next in the chapter of unfortunate 
accidents was the failure to reach her of the promised 
telegram announcing Louis's safe arrival at Nice. 
After four days' anxious waiting she decided to fol- 
low him, and her subsequent adventures may best 
be told in her own language as written to her mother- 
in-law: 

"The fourth night I went to Marseilles and tele- 
graphed to the gare and the police at Nice. All the 
people said it was no use, and that it was plain that 
he had been taken with a violent hemorrhage on the 
way and was now dead and buried at some little sta- 
tion. They said all I could do was to pack up and 
go back to Scotland. All were very kind in a dread- 
ful way, but assured me that I had much better 
accept what He bon Dieu' had sent and go back to 
Scotland at once. After much telegraphing back 
and forth I found that Louis was at the Grand Hotel 
at Nice, and when I reached there he was calmly 
reading in bed. At St. Marcel and Marseilles every 
one was furious with me; they were all fond of Louis 
and said I had let a dying man go off alone. You 
may imagine my feelings all this time ! " 

As though all that went before had not been enough, 
her return journey to St. Marcel was made so un- 
comfortable by a tactless fellow passenger that she 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 103 

arrived in a state of complete exhaustion. Of this 
she writes: 

"I have had a miserable time altogether, and the 
people, meaning to be so kind, were really so dread- 
ful. There was a man on the train, an Englishman, 
who said such terrible things to me about Louis that 
when we reached Marseilles another Englishman* 
who had been in the carriage came to me and spoke 
about it, saying he had been so wretched all the 
time. He insisted on stopping his journey a day to 
help me in my affairs. Here is a specimen of the 
horrid person's talk : ' What are you going to do when 
your husband dies?' 'I don't expect him to die.' 
'Oh, I know all about that. I've heard that kind of 
talk before. He's done for, and in this country 
they'll shovel him underground in twenty-four hours, 
almost before the breath is out of his body. His 
mother'll never see him again.' I do not speak but 
look intently out of the window. Again he speaks, 
leaning forward to be sure that I hear him. 'Have 
him embalmed; that's the thing; have you got money 
enough.'^' Can you fancy five hours of this.^^ I got 
out in the rain several times to try to get into another 
carriage, but they were all filled. But I never heard 
of anybody being so nice as Mr. Hammond was. I 
think he was more proud to be able to help Louis 
and those belonging to him than to help the Queen." 

Anxious to prevent her husband's return to St. 
Marcel while conditions were so unfavourable, she 
wrote to him: "Don't you dare to come back to this 
home of 'pizon' until you are really better. I do 

* Mr. Basil Hammond, of Trinity College, Cambridge. 



104 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

not see how you are to come back at all under the 
cu'cumstances, deserting your family as you have 
done and being hunted down and caught by your 
wife. Madame desires me to say that she knows 
what is keeping you in Nice — it is another lady. I 
told her that instead of amusing yourself with another 
lady you were weeping for me and home and your 
Wogg. She was greatly touched at that and almost 
wept herself into her dishpan. You are a dear crea- 
ture and I love you, but I am not going to say that 
I am lonesome lest you come flying back to this den 
of death." In the meantime he wrote her letters in 
which he expressed his own loneliness in humourous 
verses, illustrated with drawings, one of which runs 
like this: 

"When my wife is far from me 
The undersigned feels all at sea." 

R. L. S. 

"I am as good as deaf 
When separate from F. 

I am far from gay 
When separate from A. 

I loathe the ways of men 
When separate from N. 

Life is a murky den 
When separate from N. 

My sorrow rages high 
When separate from Y. 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 105 

And all things seem uncanny 
When separate from Fanny." 

"Where is my wife? Where is my Wogg? 
I am alone, and life's a bog." 

All his wife's expostulations, however, were of no 
avail, and, much to her annoyance, it was not long 
before he appeared at Campagne Defli, where she 
was busy packing up their effects for another flitting. 
She writes to her mother-in-law: 

"I don't wonder you ask what Louis is doing in 
Marseilles. He became filled with the idea that it 
was shirking to leave me here to do all the work. 
He was a good deal hurt, poor boy, because I wasn't 
pleased. Wasn't it delightful about the article in 
the Century f* The person was evidently writing in 
such an ecstasy of joy at having found out Louis. I 
am so pleased that it was in the Century, for every 
friend and relation I have in the world will read it. 
I suppose you are even prouder of Louis than I am, 
for he is only mine accidentally, and he is yours by 
birth and blood. Two or three times last night I 
woke up just from pure pleasure to think of all the 
people I know reading about Louis. . . . He is in- 
credibly better, and I suppose will just have to stay 
in Marseilles until I get done with things, for nothing 
will keep him away from me more than a week. It 
is so surprising, for I had never thought of Louis as a 
real domestic man, but now I find that all he wanted 
was a house of his own. Just the little time that we 

* Anedltorial review of New Arabian Nights in the Century Magazine of 
February, 1883. 



106 LIFE OF MRS. E. L. STEVENSON 

have been here has sufficed for him to form a quite 
passionate attachment for everything connected with 
the place, and it was like pulling up roots to get him 
away. I am quite bewildered with all the letters I 
have to write and all the things I have to do. For 
the present I think we shall have to cling to the little 
circle of country around Nice, so when you come it 
must be somewhere there." 

After some search they finally decided upon Hyeres, 
and by the latter part of March had once more hope- 
fully set up their household gods in a little cottage, 
the Chalet la Solitude, which clung to a low cliff 
almost at the entrance of the town. This house had 
been a model Swiss chalet at the Paris Exposition of 
1878, and had been removed and again erected at 
Hyeres, where, amid its French neighbours, it was an 
incongruous and alien object. Mrs. Stevenson writes 
of it: "It is the smallest doll house I ever saw, but 
has everything in it to make it comfortable, and the 
garden is magnificent. The wild flowers are lovely, 
and the walks, all so close at hand, most enchanting." 

In the garden grew old grey olive-trees, and in 
them nightingales nested and sang. On the rocky 
crags above stood the ruins of an ancient Saracen 
castle, and before them lay the sea — indeed a "most 
sweet corner of the universe." Not far away were 
the rose farms of Toulon, of which Mrs. Stevenson 
writes: 

"I shall never forget the day my husband and I 
drove through lanes of roses from which the attar of 
commerce is made. On either side of us the rose 
hedges were in full bloom; the scent, mingled with 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 107 

the fragrance of innumerable violets, was truly in- 
toxicating. When we alighted at a place dappled 
with sunlight that filtered through the trees, and 
cooled by a spouting fountain where girls in colored 
gowns laughed and chattered as they plied their 
trade of lace-making, we felt that our lines had in- 
deed fallen in pleasant places." 

In this charming spot it seemed for a time that 
their pursuing fate had forgotten them, and for the 
greater part of a year happiness sat by their fireside. 
Louis always referred to this time as the happiest 
period of his life, and in a letter to his old friend in 
California, Jules Simoneau, he says: "Now I am in 
clover, only my health a mere ruined temple; the ivy 
grows along its shattered front, otherwise I have no 
wish that is not fulfilled; a beautiful large garden, a 
fine view of plain, sea, and mountain; a wife that 
suits me down to the ground, and a barrel of good 
Beaujolais." 

Under these happy conditions much work was 
accomplished, and, to the great pride and satisfac- 
tion of both husband and wife, they were at last able 
to live upon his earnings. Their almost idyllic life 
here is described by Mrs. Stevenson: 

"My husband was then engaged on Prince Otto, 
begun so long ago in the little rose-covered cottage 
in Oakland, California. Our life in the chalet was 
of the utmost simplicity, and with the help of one 
untrained maid I did the cooking myself. The 
kitchen was so narrow that I was in continual danger 
of being scorched by the range on one side, and at 
the same time impaled by the saucepan hooks on 



108 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

the other, and when we had a guest at dinner our 
maid had to pass in the dishes over our heads, as 
our chairs touched the walls of the dining-room, 
leaving her no passageway. The markets of Hyeres 
were well supplied, and the wine both good and 
cheap, so we were able, for the first time, to live com- 
fortably within our limited income. 

"My husband usually wrote from the early morn- 
ing until noon, while my household duties occupied 
the same time. In the afternoon the work of the 
morning was read aloud, and we talked it over, criti- 
cising and suggesting improvements. This finished, 
we wallced in our garden, listened to the birds, and 
looked at our trees and flowers; or, accompanied by 
our Scotch terrier, wandered up the hill to the ruins 
of the castle. After dinner we talked or read aloud, 
and on rare occasions visited Mr. Powell or received 
a visit from him. f.The chalet was well named, as 
far as we were co^fcCrned, for it was almost a solitude 
d deux, but the dAys slipped by with amazing celerity.'* 

Their mutual affection and their dependence upon 
each other grew as the years went by, and in 1884 he 
wrote to his mother: "My wife is in pretty good 
feather; I love her better than ever and admire her 
more; and I cannot think what I have done to deserve 
so good a gift. This sudden remark came out of my 
pen; it is not like me; but in case you did not know, I 
may as well tell you, that my marriage has been the 
most successful in the world. . . . She is everything 
to me; wife, brother, sister, daughter, and dear com- 
panion ; and I would not change to get a goddess or a 
saint. So far, after four years of matrimony." 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 109 

At another time he wrote: "As for my wife, that 
was the best investment ever made by man; but 'in 
our branch of the family' we seem to marry well. 
Here am I, who you were persuaded was born to dis- 
grace you, no very burning discredit when all is said 
and done; here am I married, and the marriage rec- 
ognized to be a blessing of the first water — ^Al at 
Lloyds." 

As Christmas, 1883, approached, their content 
seemed to reach its highest tide, and out of a full 
heart Mrs. Stevenson wrote to her mother-in-law: 

"What a Christmas of thanksgiving this should be 
for us all, with Louis so well, his father so well, every- 
thing pointing to comfort and happiness. Louis is 
making such a success with his work, and doing bet- 
ter work every day. Dear mother and father of my 
beloved husband, I send you Christmas greetings 
from my heart of hearts. I meaii to have a Merry 
Christmas and be as glad and thanlvful as possible for 
all the undeserved mercies and blessings that have 
been showered upon me." 

They snatched at these moments of respite from 
eating care with an almost pathetic eagerness, and 
set to work once more to make a home in their doll's 
house. Mrs. Stevenson had what she called a "paint- 
ing fever," and devised a scheme of Japanese decora- 
tions for the doors of the chalet which her husband 
thought might be made to produce a lot of money if 
they were nearer London. One of the panels had a 
woman yawning over a fire in the early morning, and 
the hypnotic effect of it kept the family and their 
guests yawning their heads off, so that Mrs. Steven- 



110 LIFE OF IVffiS. R. L. STEVENSON 

son decided the sleepy lady would be better for a 
bedroom. 

Among their acquaintances here was a certain 
doctor who was such an inveterate optimist that he 
could have given lessons even to Louis Stevenson 
himself. She says of him: "This doctor has bought 
a piece of land here upon which he expects to build a 
house and settle down when he retires from practice. 
How old do you suppose he will be when he stops 
work and settles down to enjoy life? Only ninety- 
one, and subject to hemorrhages and other things ! 
It seems to be the received opinion that when one 
passes the age of sixty-three years life takes a new 
start and one may live to almost any age. As to 
Louis, I verily believe he is going to be like the old 
doctor, only a little better looking, I hope." 

Notwithstanding the cramped quarters in the little 
chalet their solitude was broken now and then by a 
visitor. Thither went at various times "Bob" Ste- 
venson, Sir Sidney Colvin, Mr. Charles Baxter, Mr. 
W. E. Henley, and Miss Ferrier. The pleasurable 
excitement of this society, to which he had been so 
long a stranger, raised Mr. Stevenson's spirits to 
such an extent that he rashly proposed an expedition 
to Nice, where he took cold, developed pneumonia, 
was critically ill for weeks, and returned to Hyeres 
still in a very low condition. This was one of the 
most harrowing periods of Mrs. Stevenson's life, and 
she tells of its distresses in a letter written to her 
mother-in-law in January, 1884: 

"If I write like a mad creature do not be surprised, 
for I have had a period of awful wretchedness. Louis 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 111 

fell ill, and when the doctor came he beckoned to 
me to follow him, and then told me Louis was dying 
and could not be kept alive until you could get here. 
That was yesterday. I watched every breath he 
drew all night in what sickening apprehension you 
may guess. To-day another doctor. Dr. Drum- 
mond, was called in, and says that Louis may well 
live to be seventy, only he must not travel about. 
He is steadily better and is reading a newspaper in 
bed at this moment. I, who have not slept a wink 
for two nights, am pretending to be the gayest of the 
gay, but in reality I am a total wreck, although I am 
almost off my head with relief and joy." 

As soon as the patient had sufficiently recovered 
they returned to Hyeres, but there new troubles 
awaited them. His eyes became so severely affected 
by a contagious ophthalmia then prevailing in the 
neighbourhood that he had to give up using them for 
several weeks, sciatic rheumatism confined him to 
bed, and his right arm was bound to his side to pre- 
vent hemorrhage. In the midst of all these afflictions 
he refused to be cast down and insisted that every- 
thing was for the best, for he was now forced to take 
a much-needed rest which he would not otherwise 
have taken. On March 25, 1884, she writes to his 
mother : 

"I am not very good at letter writing since I have 
been doing blind man's eyes, but here is a note to 
say that the blind man is doing very well, and I con- 
sider the blindness a real providence. Since he has 
been unable to read or do anything at all a wonderful 
change has come over his health, spirits, and temper, 



112 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

all for the better. ... I wish you could see him 
with his eye tied up and singing away like mad; truly 
like mad, as there is neither time nor method in it, 
only a large voice. I am horribly busy, for I have 
to write for Louis from dictation, answer all his let- 
ters, as well as my own, keep house, entertain visi- 
tors, and do a good deal of the cooking. Our Wogg 
is an invalid, having got himself badly mangled in 
several fights, the maid is ill with symptoms of pleu- 
risy, and altogether we are a forlorn household, but 
with all this Louis and I are in high spirits. He says 
it is wonderful how well one gets along without read- 
ing. He could never have believed it." 

Perhaps partly for the purpose of getting her out 
for a little fresh air, he proposed that she should go 
for an hour's walk every day, and during her absence 
invent a story to be told on her return. It was to be 
a sort of Arabian Nights' Entertainment, with him as 
the Sultan and her as Scheherazade. The Dynamiter 
was suggested by certain attempted outrages in Lon- 
don which had all turned out to be fiascos. She began 
with the Mormon tale and followed with the others, 
one for each afternoon. Afterwards, when a lean 
time came at Bournemouth and money was badly 
needed, these stories, temporarily forgotten, were 
recalled, written, and published as the second volume 
of the New Arabian Nights series. As there was only 
enough for a thin book he wrote another, The Explo- 
sive Bomb, to fill up. It came out at first under the 
title of More New Arabian Nights, but afterwards 
appeared as The Dynamiter. Of the stories in this 
second series only one, The Explosive Bomb, was en- 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 113 

tirely the work of Mr. Stevenson's own hand, all the 
others being done in collaboration with his wife. 
The Dynamiter did double service, as his wife said, 
for first it amused his tedious hours of illness at 
Hyeres, and afterwards it replenished his purse in a 
time of need. 

Their peaceful life in the chalet was now broken 
by a new and most unexpected interruption. Mrs. 
Stevenson writes in her preface to The Dynamiter : 

"So quiet and secluded was our life here that we 
heard almost nothing of the outside world except 
through an occasional English correspondent. I re- 
member before we knew that cholera was raging in 
Toulon, only some three miles away, how we watched 
a cloud gathering over the town, where it hung heavy 
and lowering, day after day. We felt that it was 
somehow ominous, and were vaguely depressed. We 
were told afterwards that at that very time great 
fires were burning in the streets of Toulon by order 
of the mayor, and that the people gathered at night 
around these fires capering fantastically in a pagan 
dance, resurrected from the dark ages no one knew 
by whom or how." 

To add to the alarm caused by the outbreak of the 
cholera, in the first week in May Mr. Stevenson had 
a violent hemorrhage. "It occurred late at night, 
but in a moment his wife was at his side. Being 
choked by the flow of blood and unable to speak, he 
made signs to her for a paper and pencil, and wrote 
in a firm neat hand, 'Don't be frightened. If this 
is death it is an easy one.' Mrs. Stevenson had al- 
ways a small bottle of ergotin and a minim glass in 



114 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

readiness; these she brought in order to administer 
the prescribed quantity. Seeing her alarm he took 
bottle and glass away from her, measured the dose 
correctly with a perfectly steady hand, and gave the 
things back to her with a reassuring smile."* It was 
said that if his wife had not had everything ready 
and known exactly what to do he could not have 
lived. The clergyman came to pray with the sup- 
posed dying man, but, having been warned against 
the least excitement, she refused him admittance. 
In defense of her action she says: "I know Louis, and 
I know that he tries always to so live that he may 
be ready to die." When Mr. Stevenson heard that 
a clergyman had come to pray for him as a man in 
danger of dying, he said: "Tell him to come and see 
me when I am better and I will offer up a prayer for 
a clergyman in danger of living." In a few days he 
rallied once more, but it was now realized that chronic 
invalidism was to be his portion for the rest of his 
days, and his wife wrote to her mother-in-law: 

*'The doctor says 'keep him alive until he is forty, 
and then, though a winged bird, he may live to 
ninety.' But between now and forty he must live 
as though he were walking on eggs. For the next 
two years, no matter how well he feels, he must live 
the life of an invalid. He must be perfectly tranquil, 
trouble about nothing, have no shocks or surprises, 
not even pleasant ones, must not eat too much, talk 
very little, and walk no more than can be helped. 
He must never be crossed, for anger, going upstairs, 
and walking are the worst things for him. . . . Yet 

* From The Life of Roheii Louis Stevenson, by Graham Balfour. 



leUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 115 

he is very cheerful and has been all along. He is 
never frightened." 

Driven from Hyeres by the cholera, they sought a 
temporary refuge at an enchanting little watering- 
place near Clermont-Ferrand called Royat, in whose 
healing springs Caesar himself had once bathed. The 
surroundings, of wooded ravines and cliffs and num- 
berless waterfalls, were charming, and in the centre 
of the town stood an ancient cathedral, whose former 
use as a fortress was still proclaimed by the loopholes 
in its walls and the hooded projections on its towers. 

In this romantic place they spent the summer in 
the company of his parents, who came to visit them, 
but the joy of this meeting was tempered by the fail- 
ing health and spirits of the father, who was now 
only able to keep up a semblance of cheerfulness in 
the presence of his son. 

At the end of the summer of 1884 they returned to 
Hyeres, but the prospect of a permanent recovery 
there seemed so slight that it was finally decided to 
go to England and seek medical advice. On the 1st 
of July they reached England, and shortly afterwards 
went to London to consult Sir Andrew Clark and 
other eminent physicians. Mrs. Stevenson writes 
from there: "I suppose it comes from being so long a 
recluse, but seeing the few people I have seen has 
quite shattered my nerves, so that I tremble and can 
hardly speak. Louis, on the contrary, is quite calm, 
and is at this moment, after a hearty meal, resting 
quietly in his bed." 

Snatching at a half-hearted permission given by 
some of the doctors to remain in England, their deci- 



116 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSO. >• 

sion being assisted by the desire to be near bis i\ther, 
whose health was rapidly failing, they went to Bourne- 
mouth for a trial of its climate and conditions. Noth- 
ing untoward having occurred by the end of January, 
the elder Stevenson purchased a house there as a 
present to his daughter-in-law. Both the wanderers 
were filled with inexpressible Joy at the prospect of 
living under their own rooftree, and at once plunged 
with ardour into the business of furnishing and gar- 
dening. The first thing was to change the name of 
the place to Skerryvore, in honour of the best known 
of the lighthouses built by the Stevenson family, the 
name being partly suggested by the fact that a dis- 
tant view of the sea was to be had from the upper 
windows. 

Skerryvore was a pleasant, ivy-covered brick cot- 
tage, surrounded by a half-acre of garden, which has 
been so delightfully described by William Archer in 
the Critic of November 5, 1887, that one can do no 
better than quote his words: 

"Though only a few paces from the public road, it 
is thoroughly secluded. Its front faces southward 
(away from the road) and overlooks a lawn, 

'Linnet haunted garden ground, 
Where still the esculents abound.' 

"The demesne extends over the edge, and almost to 
the bottom of the Chine; and here, amid laurel and 
rhododendron, broom and gorse, the garden merges 
into a network of paths and stairways, with tempting 
seats and unexpected arbors at every turn. This 
seductive little labyrinth is of Mrs. Stevenson's own 



EUEOPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 117 

designing. She makes the whole garden her special 
charge and delight, but this particular corner of it 
is as a kingdom conquered, where to reign. Mrs. 
Stevenson, the tutelary genius of Skerryvore, is a 
woman of small physical stature but surely of heroic 
mould. Her features are clear cut and delicate, but 
marked by unmistakable strength of character; her 
hair is an unglossy black, and her complexion darker 
than one would expect in a woman of Dutch extrac- 
tion. . . . Her personality, no less than her hus- 
band's, impresses itself potently on all who have the 
good fortune to be welcomed at Skerryvore." 

Writing to her mother-in-law from Bournemouth, 
she says: 

*'I have just been going the rounds of my garden, 
and have brought in as a sentimental reminder of you 
the first marguerite,* which I will enclose in this let- 
ter. The weather is like paradise, the sun is shining, 
the birds are singing, and Louis is walking up and 
down in front of the house with a red umbrella over 
his head, enjoying the day. ... I could only ask 
one thing more to have the most perfect life that any 
woman could have, and that is, of course, good health 
for Louis. ... I should be perfectly appalled if I 
were asked to exchange his faults for other people's 
virtues." 

Three years were spent at this pleasant place, and 
though Louis's health was never good, and he lived 
there, as he afterwards wrote, "like a pallid weevil 
in a biscuit," a great deal was accomplished in liter- 
ary work by both husband and wife. There they 

* The elder lady's name was Margaret. 



118 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

put together the stories in The Dynamiter, which, as 
will be remembered, Mrs. Stevenson had made up 
to while away the hours of illness at Hyeres. When 
the book came out little credit was given her by the 
book reviewers for her part in it, a neglect which 
caused her some mortification. Writing to her 
mother-in-law, she says: "I thought in the beginning 
that I shouldn't mind being Louis's scapegoat, but 
it is rather hard to be treated like a comma, and a 
superfluous one at that. And then in one paper, the 
only one in which I am mentioned, the critic refers to 
me as * undoubtedly Mr. Stevenson's sister.' Why, 
pray ? Surely there can be nothing in the book that 
points to a sister in particular." 

The morning after her husband had the dream that 
suggested Dr. Jehyll and Mr. Hyde, he came with a 
radiant countenance to show his work to his wife, 
saying it was the best thing he had ever done. She 
read it and thought it the worst, and thereupon fell 
into a state of deep gloom, for she couldn't let it go, 
and yet it seemed cruel to tell him so, and between 
the two horns of the dilemma she made herself quite 
ill. At last, by his request and according to their 
custom, she put her objections to it, as it then stood, 
* in writing, complaining that he had treated it simply 
as a story, whereas it was in reality an allegory. 
After reading her paper and seeing the justice of her 
criticism, with characteristic impulsiveness he imme- 
diately burned his first draft and rewrote it from a 
different point of view. She was appalled when he 
burned it, for she had only wanted him to change it, 
but he was afraid of being influenced by the first 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 119 

writing and preferred to start anew, with a clean 
slate. 

Their discussions over the work were sometimes 
hot and protracted, for neither was disposed to yield 
without a struggle. Speaking of this in a letter to 
his mother, she says: "If I die before Louis, my last 
earnest request is that he shall publish nothing with- 
out his father's approval. I know that means little 
short of destruction to both of them, but there will 
be no one else. The field is always covered with my 
dead and wounded, and often I am forced to a com- 
promise, but still I make a very good fight." In this 
battle of wits they found intense enjoyment, and it 
was, in fact, an intellectual comradeship that few 
writers have been fortunate enough to enjoy in their 
own households. 

While at Bournemouth an occasional respite from 
illness enabled them to enjoy the society of friends 
in a limited way — among them their neighbours. Sir 
Percy and Lady Shelley, Sir Henry Taylor and his 
daughters, and many people of note who came down 
from London to see them. The incidents of these 
friendships have been fully dealt with in Balfour's 
Life of Robert Louis Stevenson, and need not be treated 
extensively here. One of their neighbours. Miss Ade- 
laide Boodle, who was given the jocose title of "game- 
keeper" when she assumed charge of Skerry vore after 
their departure from England, writes thus of her 
attachment to Mrs. Stevenson: "Among all her 
friends here there was never one who loved her more 
whole-heartedly than her 'gamekeeper,' to whom in 
after years she gave the sweet pet name of the ' little 



120 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

brown deer.' From the first day that we met at 
Skerryvore she took entire possession of my heart, 
and there she will forever bear sway. There is an 
old gardener here, too, who was her devoted slave at 
Skerryvore. Of course she never trusted him the 
length of her little finger, but she used him as extra 
hands and feet. Her parting charge to me — given 
in his presence — has never been forgotten by either 
of us: 'Remember, child, if you ever see Philips ap- 
proach my creepers with a pruning knife you are to 
snatch it from his hand and plunge it into his heart ! ' " 
Among the visitors was John Sargent, the American 
painter, who came to paint Mr. Stevenson's portrait 
— a picture which was regarded as too peculiar to be 
satisfactory. When Sargent painted it he put Mrs. 
Stevenson, dressed in an East Indian costume, in the 
background, intending it, not for a portrait, but 
merely as a bit of colour to balance the picture. It 
was a part of the costume that her feet should be 
bare, and this fact gave rise to a fantastic story that 
has often gone the rounds in print, and will probably 
continue to do so till the end of time, that when she 
first came to London she was such a savage that she 
went to dinners and evening entertainments barefoot. 
This was but one of the many strange tales that ap- 
peared from time to time concerning her, all of which 
she refused to contradict, no matter how false or 
malicious they might be, for she felt that the name 
she bore was not to be lowered by appearing in stupid 
or ridiculous controversy; for that reason she would 
never see newspaper reporters, and though many so- 
called "interviews" with her have been printed, none 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 121 

of them are genuine. She was misrepresented by the 
press in many ways, and even wantonly attacked, but 
refused to break her rule under any circumstances. 
During the last days of Jules Simoneau, of Monterey, 
a statement appeared in the papers to the effect that 
he was being permitted to suffer and die in want, and 
although it was perfectly well known to her friends 
and many other persons that she had supported him 
in comfort for years, she would not make any contra- 
diction in the public press. 

One of the interesting people she met while in Eng- 
land was Prince Kropotkin, the noted Russian revo- 
lutionist. Mrs. Stevenson, believing that Kropotkin 
was concerned in the blowing up of a French village 
while a country fair was in progress, resulting in the 
killing of a number of innocent people, prevented her 
husband from signing a petition that was instituted 
for his release from the French prison where he was 
confined. When he was finally freed and went to 
England, at the urgent request of Henry James she 
consented to meet him, and found him to be a most 
charming person. He assured her that, judging from 
the expression of her eyes, she was born to be a nihi- 
list, and when she indignantly denied this, still in- 
sisted that she should learn to play the game of soli- 
taire, for if she should ever have to go to prison it 
might save her life and reason, as it had his. She 
consented, not with the anticipation of spending any 
portion of her life behind prison-bars, but in order to 
use the game to amuse her husband during his long 
periods of forced and speechless seclusion. She would 
sit by his bedside and play her game, and he took 



122 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

great pleasure in watching it and pointing at the 
cards that he thought she ought to play. In later 
years, when he had gone to the other world, and the 
days grew long and lonely, this game of solitaire, so 
strangely acquired from the bearded Russian, became 
a solace. 

But of all the guests that came to Skerry vore, the 
best loved and most welcome was Mrs. Stevenson's 
fellow countryman, Henry James, who often ran 
down to see them. In the house there was a certain 
large blue chair in which he liked to sit. It was called 
the "Henry James" chair, and no one else was al- 
lowed to use it. It was to him that Louis Stevenson 
wrote the poem called "Who Comes To-Night.f^" 
Speaking of their first meeting, Mrs. Stevenson wrote 
to her mother-in-law: "We have had a very pleasant 
visitor. One evening a card was handed in with 
'Henry James' upon it. He spent that evening, 
asked to come again the next night, arriving almost 
before we had got done with dinner, and staying as 
late as he thought he might, and asking to come the 
next evening, which is to-night. I call that very 
flattering. I had always been told that he was the 
type of an Englishman, but, except that he looks like 
the Prince of Wales, I call him the type of an Ameri- 
can. He is gentle, amiable, and soothing." 

A wedding anniversary came around, and it was 
resolved to celebrate it by a dinner. Henry James 
was the only guest, and he took a naive delight in the 
American dishes which his hostess had prepared to 
remind him of his native land. She writes: "Our 
dinner was most successful, our guest continually 



EUROPE AND THE BRITISH ISLES 123 

asking for double helpings and breaking out into 
heartfelt praises of the food. It was a sort of lady's 
and literary man's dinner; everything was just as 
good as could be, and under each napkin was a paper 
with verses for each person written by Louis." 

Long afterwards, when Mr. James was in America 
for his first visit in many years, he went to see Mrs. 
Stevenson in her San Francisco house. He had come 
up from the southern part of the State, and was so 
enchanted with the sights along the way — the flowery 
hill-slopes and green ferny canyons — that for the first 
time he was almost persuaded to abandon his adopted 
home and come to live among the orange-groves of 
California. "When I come to dinner," said he, 
"please have a large dish of California oranges on the 
table if you have nothing else." Despite a certain 
stiffness of manner and speech, he was a man of 
kindly heart and simple, unworldly nature. After 
the first ice was broken, the most unintellectual per- 
son might prattle away to him at ease, for his sym- 
pathies were of the broadest. Both Mr. and Mrs. 
Stevenson had a deep affection for him, and "no 
matter who else was there, the evenings seemed 
empty without him." 

In the meantime Mr. Stevenson's health went but 
badly, and his wife gave up practically all her time 
and strength to his care. 

In May, 1887, the elder Stevenson died, breaking 
the last tie that held them to England, and three 
months later Louis Stevenson, with his mother, wife, 
and stepson, set sail for America. 



CHAPTER VII 
AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 

After boarding the Ludgate Hill, the tramp steam- 
ship on which they had taken passage for New York, 
chiefly on account of her unusually spacious cabins, 
they discovered, somewhat to their discomfiture, that 
the cargo, listed by the agent as "notions," really 
consisted largely of live stock — ^horses to be taken on 
at Havre, and a consignment of monkeys. All their 
party were of the sort, however, who have a "heart 
for any fate," so they agreed to regard this as only 
an added adventure. As it turned out, they were 
not disappointed, for, as the elder Mrs. Stevenson 
writes, "It was very amusing and like a circus to 
see the horses come on board," while Jocko, a large 
ape, which soon struck up a warm friendship with 
Mr. Stevenson, furnished them with a vast amount 
of entertainment. The exceptional freedom which 
they enjoyed on board, too, more than counterbal- 
anced any lack of elegance. In a vein of exuberant 
joy at this escape from the narrow confines of the 
sick-room, Louis writes to his Cousin Bob: 

"I was so happy on board that ship I could not 
have believed it possible. We had the beastliest 
weather and many discomforts; but the mere fact of 
its being a tramp ship gave us many comforts; we 
could cut about with the men and officers, stay in 

124 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 125 

the wheel-house, discuss all manner of things, and 
really be a little at sea. And truly there is nothing 
else. I had literally forgotten what happiness was, 
and the full mind — full of external and physical 
things, not full of cares and labors and rot about a 
fellow's behavior. My heart literally sang; I truly 
care for nothing so much as that." 

The two ladies took up knitting to while away the 
long hours at sea, and so the days slipped peacefully 
by, with the invalid steadily gaining in health until 
they struck a heavy fog on the Newfoundland banks, 
where he caught a cold. 

They reached New York on September 7, 1887, at 
the time when Stevenson's fame was in its flood-tide. 
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde had just made a tremendous 
impression on the reading public; the idea of dual 
personality was being discussed on all sides; ministers 
preached sermons about it. Stevenson was amazed 
and bewildered, though immensely pleased, at the 
sudden turn of fortune's wheel. Here, indeed, was 
success at last in full measure. 

Their original plan had been to try the climate of 
Colorado, but the long overland journey seemed too 
great an ordeal in his condition, and, hearing of 
Saranac in the Adirondacks, then just coming into 
prominence as a resort for consumptives, they de- 
cided to make a trial of it. While Louis and his 
mother paid a visit to the Fairchilds at Newport, his 
wife and stepson went on to the mountain place to 
make arrangements. 

This sanatorium was established by Doctor Edward 
Livingstone Trudeau, a New York physician who had 



126 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

nursed his brother through tuberculosis and later de- 
veloped the disease himself. He had tried going 
South and taking daily exercise, but as these attempts 
at a cure only made matters worse, in a sort of des- 
peration he went to the Adirondacks, not so much 
for health as for love of the great forest and the wild 
life. It was then a rough, inaccessible region, visited 
only by hunters and fishermen, and was considered 
to have a most inclement and trying climate. Tru- 
deau was carried to the place of Paul Smith, a guide 
and hotel-keeper, on a mattress, but it was not long 
before he was able to move about and to get some 
enjoyment out of life. When he first spent a winter 
there it was thought to mean his death-warrant, but, 
to his own surprise, he soon began to eat and sleep, 
and lost his fever. In 1876 he moved his family to 
Saranac and lived there always after that. Physi- 
cians in New York, hearing of the case of Trudeau, 
began to send patients now and then to try the cli- 
mate at Saranac, and in that small way the health 
resort, now so extensive, had its beginning. Steven- 
son went there in the early days of the sanatorium, 
when the place was a mere little logging village, 
where logs were cut and floated down the river. 

There were two churches in the place, called by the 
appropriate names of St. Luke the Beloved Physician 
and St. John in the Wilderness, the latter a picturesque 
structure of logs. These churches, both of the Epis- 
copal denomination, were built and furnished as a 
testimonial of gratitude by persons who had recov- 
ered health or had friends under treatment there. 

As soon as Mrs. Stevenson had her people settled 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 127 

at Saranac she left them and went to Indiana to 
visit her mother and sister, stopping on the way for 
a few days with the Bellamy Storers at Cincinnati. 
"The Storers live in a sort of enchanted palace," she 
writes, "and are very simple and gentle and kind, 
and altogether lovely. Mrs. Storer has a pottery, 
where poor ladies with artistic tastes get work and 
encouragement. She also has a large hospital for 
children, and a little girl of her own with a genius for 
drawing. Mr. Storer is six feet three and a half 
inches in height and has a Greek projfile and soft 
large brown eyes." 

The Stevensons reached Saranac when the woods 
were all aflame with autumn glory, and to Mr. Ste- 
venson's mother it all seemed unreal and "more like 
a painted scene in a theatre" than actuality. 

The house in which they lived, a white frame cot- 
tage with green shutters and a veranda around it, 
belonged to a guide named Andrew Baker, who took 
parties into the woods for hunting and fishing excur- 
sions. Baker was a typical frontiersman — brave, ob- 
stinate, independent, and fearless — who might have 
stepped out of Leather Stocking, and he had a kind, 
sweet wife. The cottage stood on high ground, so 
that its occupants could look down on the river, and 
the view, except for the brilliant hues of the frost- 
tinted leaves, was enough like the Highlands to make 
Louis and his mother feel quite at home. 

Life in the cottage was frontier-like in its simplicity, 
and the Scotch lady, for whom this was the first 
experience in "roughing it," asked for many things 
that caused great surprise to the village storekeeper. 



128 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

including such unheard-of luxuries as coffee-pots, 
teapots, and egg-cups. Writing to her friend Miss 
Boodle, the "gamekeeper" of Skerry vore, Mrs. Rob- 
ert Louis Stevenson describes their life at Saranac: 

"We are high up in the Adirondack Mountains, 
living in a guide's cottage in the most primitive 
fashion. The maid does the cooking (we have little 
beyond venison and bread to cook) and the boy 
comes every morning to carry water from a distant 
spring for drinking purposes. It is already very cold, 
but we have calked the doors and windows as one 
calks a boat, and have laid in a store of extraordinary 
garments made by the Canadian Indians. I went to 
Montreal to buy these and came back laden with 
buffalo skins, snow shoes, and fur caps. Louis wants 
to have his photograph taken in his, hoping to pass 
for a mighty hunter or sly trapper. He is now more 
like the hardy mountaineer, taking long walks on 
hill-tops in all seasons and weathers. It is some- 
thing like Davos here, all the invalids looking stronger 
and ruddier than we who are supposed to be in good 
health. . . . Every afternoon a vehicle called a 
*buckboard' is brought to om* door, sometimes with 
one large horse attached, and sometimes we have a 
pair of lovely spirited ponies. The buckboard is so 
light that when we meet a stagecoach on the narrow 
road we simply drive our horse up the hillside and 
lift the buckboard out of the way. Very soon, how- 
ever, we shall exchange it for a sleigh." 

It was a long, bitter winter spent amid the ice and 
snow, the thermometer at one time showing 48 de- 
grees below zero. By November 19 it was fiercely 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 129 

cold, and water and ink froze in the rooms with fires 
going all day and night. "When the kitchen floor was 
washed with warm water, even with a hot fire burning 
in the room, the floor became a sheet of ice. All food 
had to be thawed out before it could be eaten, and 
the thawing-out process sometimes presented great 
difficulties, a haunch of venison remaining full of ice 
after being in a hot oven for an hour. Sometimes a 
lump of ice was left unmelted in the centre of the 
soup-pot even when the water boiled all around it. 
The cold was most intense at night, when the rivets 
could be heard starting from the boards like pistol- 
shots, but during the day the temperature was often 
quite mild. The snow was so deep that it reached 
the second-story windows, and paths had to be 
shovelled out and kept clear around the house. In 
the streets a snow-plough was used. By March the 
Hunter's Home was nearly buried in the drifts, and 
in spite of a huge open fireplace, in which great log 
fires were kept constantly burning, and a stove in 
every room, it was impossible to do much more than 
barely keep from freezing to death. When they 
went out, muffled up to the ears in furs, they carried 
little slabs of hot soapstone in their pockets, for it 
was a great comfort to thrust a frozen hand into a 
toasting-hot pocket. 

Added to the bitterness of the cold was the depres- 
sion of grey, sunless days, only too like their memo- 
ries of Scotland, and while they sat and shivered 
around their immense fireplace their thoughts turned 
insistently towards sunnier lands. Many years be- 
fore, when Mr. Stevenson was a mere lad, it had been 



130 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

suggested that the South Seas was the very place for 
him, and the plan for a voyage there some time in 
the future had always lain dormant in his thoughts, 
waiting for the opportunity. This old dream now 
came to mind again, and every glance from their 
frost-covered windows at the bleak dreariness with- 
out made their vision of tropical forests and coral 
strands seem the more alluring. The project now 
began to take on definite shape, and days were spent 
in poring over Findlay's directories of the Mediter- 
ranean, the Indian Ocean, and the South Seas. 

In the meantime much work was accomplished, 
the most important being a series of twelve articles 
written by Mr. Stevenson for Scribner's Magazine, in- 
cluding some of his best-known essays — The Lantern 
Bearers, A Chapter on Dreams, etc. In the short 
hours of daylight and the long, dark evenings he f 
worked with his stepson on the novel called The 
Wrong Box. It was here, too, that the story of the 
two brothers. The Master of Ballantrae, was thought 
out, and The Black Arrow, a book which failed to 
meet with Mrs. Stevenson's approval, was revised. 
In the dedication to this last he says : 

"No one but myself knows what I have suffered, 
nor what my books have gained, by your unsleeping 
watchfulness and admirable pertinacity. And now 
here is a volume that goes into the world and lacks 
your imprimatur; a strange thing in our joint lives; 
and the reason of it stranger still ! I have watched 
with interest, with pain, and at length with amuse- 
ment, your unavailing attempts to peruse The Black 
Arrow; I think I should lack humor indeed if I let 






AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 131 

the occasion slip and did not place your name in the 
fly-leaf of the only book of mine that you have never 
read — and never will read." 

By the time spring had melted the deep snow 
around their mountain home they had come to the 
definite decision to undertake the cruise in the event 
that a suitable vessel could be secured for the pur- 
pose. Leaving the other members of the family 
about to start for Manasquan in New Jersey, Mrs. 
Robert Louis Stevenson went to San Francisco, where 
she found and chartered the yacht Casco, belonging 
to Doctor Merritt of Oakland, for a six months' cruise. 

While in California she came to visit me at Mon- 
terey, where years before we had all been so happy 
together. During the week she spent there we did 
the things that she liked best — spending long de- 
lightful days gathering shells on the beach at Point 
Cypress, where the great seas roared in from across 
the wide Pacific and broke thunderously at our feet. 
When noon came, bringing us appetites sharpened 
by the sparkling air, we built a fire under the old 
twisted trees and barbecued the meat we had brought 
with us. She seemed to be welling over with happi- 
ness — partly because of her great pride and joy in 
her husband's success, and partly because, after 
years spent in Alpine snows, Scotch mists, London 
fogs, and fierce Adirondack cold, she had come again 
into the sunlight of her beloved California. 

While there she had a pleasant meeting with 
Louis's old friend Jules Simoneau, of which she 
writes to her husband: 

"At last your dear old Simoneau came to see me. 



132 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

He was laden with flowers, and was dressed in a 
flannel shirt thrown open at the neck and his trou- 
sers thrust in his boots. I saw him from the window 
and ran out and kissed him. He was greatly pleased 
and talked a long time about you. I told him you 
were going to send him the books, and he almost 
cried at that. The following day he and his wife 
spent the whole time in the woods searching for 
roots and leaves that are, according to the Indians, 
a certain cure for lung disease where there is hem- 
orrhage. I have a great packet of them; one dose is 
divided off, and I am to divide the rest in the same 
way. A dose means enough to make a gallon of 
tea, of which you are to drink when so inclined. 
Simoneau said: 'I thought you might be ashamed of 
a rough old eccentric fellow like me.' I expressed 
my feeling in regard to him, to which he replied: 
*And yet I am rough and eccentric; you say I was 
kind; I fear that to be kind is to be eccentric.*'* 

Having secured the Casco, she telegraphed to her 
anxiously waiting husband for a positive decision, 
to which he sent back an instant and joyous "Yes." 

It is now thirty years since Robert Louis Stevenson 
passed that winter in the snows of the Adirondacks, 
and the little logging-camp, as he knew it, has grown 
into a great sanatorium, but his spirit still seems to 
hover over the place, and those who seek the healing 
of its crystal air have set up a shrine and made of 
him a sort of patron saint. The Baker Cottage has 
been converted by the Stevenson Society into a 
memorial museum, where many objects commemora- 
tive of him have been collected. Among these are 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 133 

the woodcuts with which he amused himself at 
Davos, and which were given to them by Lloyd 
Osbourne. Here Mr. and Mrs. Baker, whose hair 
has been whitened by the snows of many winters 
since the Stevenson days, receive the visitors who 
come to reverently examine the relics left by the man 
who fought so bravely and so successfully against the 
same insidious enemy with whom they themselves are 
struggling. On the veranda, where, in that time so 
long past, his slender figure might often have been 
seen walking up and down, a beautiful bas-relief by 
Gutzon Borglum, representing him in the fur cap 
and coat and the boots that he was so boyishly proud 
of, has been set up. Just as the mantle of Stevenson 
fell upon Cummy* and Simoneau, so now it has 
fallen upon this most amiable and delightful old 
couple, the Bakers, making them in a way celebrities; 
and to the patients his memory is like that of a dear 
departed elder brother, to whom they are linked by 
the strong bond of a common suffering and a common 
hope. 

As soon as they could make ready the family set 
out, and by June 7 their train was rolling down the 
western slope of the Sierras into California. At Sac- 
ramento they were met by their "advance agent,'* 
who, as her mother-in-law remarks, "was looking so 
pretty in a new hat that we were grieved to hear that 
it belonged to her daughter." 

Immediately on reaching San Francisco they were 
plunged into a bustle of preparation for the long 
cruise. While he rested from the fatigue of the long 

* Alison Cunningham, Stevenson's old nurse. 



134 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

overland trip Mrs. Stevenson went on with the work, 
including, among other things, vaccination for all 
hands except the sick man. Lymph was taken with 
them so that his wife could vaccinate him if it should 
become necessary. The burden of these prepara- 
tions, including the winning over of Doctor Merritt, 
who was not inclined to rent his yacht at first, fell 
upon the shoulders of Mrs. Stevenson. Sending the 
others here and there on errands, getting the burgee 
to fly at the masthead, purchasing all the multitudi- 
nous list of supplies necessary for the long voyage, 
making sure that nothing that might be needed by 
the invalid should be forgotten, with flying runs be- 
tween times to report to him at the hotel — these were 
busy days for her. 

While they were in San Francisco Mrs. Stevenson 
had a strange and dramatic meeting with Samuel 
Osbourne's second wife, a quiet, gentle little woman 
whom he married soon after his divorce from Fanny 
Van de Grift. Within a year or two after the mar- 
riage Osbourne mysteriously disappeared, never to be 
heard of again, and his wife dragged out a pitiful ex- 
istence at their vineyard at Glen Ellen, in Sonoma 
County, hoping against hope for his return. Finally 
her faith failed, and when she met Mrs. Stevenson in 
San Francisco she fell on her knees before her and 
burst into bitter weeping, saying: "You were right 
about that man and I was wrong!" She was then 
taken in to see Louis, and the two women sat hand in 
hand by his bedside and talked of the trouble that 
had darkened both their lives. Both Mr. and Mrs. 
Stevenson felt great compassion for the unhappy 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 135 

woman and did what they could to relieve her finan- 
cial needs. 

The Casco was a beautiful racing yacht, with cabin 
fittings of silk and velvet, and was kept so shiningly 
clean by her crew that in the islands she came to be 
known as the Silver Ship. At last all was ready, 
and, with a cabin packed with flowers and fruit sent 
by admiring friends, early in the morning of June 28, 
1888, as the first rays of the sun glinted back from 
the dancing water, the Casco was towed across the 
bay, amid salutes from the ferry-boats and the trains 
on shore, and out through the narrow passage of the 
Golden Gate. Then the Silver Ship, shaking out 
her snowy sails, turned her prow across the glittering 
expanse straight towards the enchanted isles of which 
Louis Stevenson had dreamed since he was a boy of 
twenty. 

The women had already provided themselves with 
their old solace of knitting for the slow-passing days 
at sea, and all settled down for the long voyage. All 
through the story of their three years of wandering 
among the islands of the South Seas runs the thread 
of the wife's devotion; of how she took upon herself 
the fatiguing details of preparations for the voyages, 
searching for ships and arranging for supplies; of how 
she walked across an island to get horses and wagon 
to move the sick man to a more comfortable place; 
of how she saved his trunk of manuscripts from de- 
struction by fire on shipboard, of how she cheerfully 
endured a thousand discomforts, hardships, and 
even dangers for the sake of the slight increase of 
health and happiness the life brought to the loved 



136 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

one. She was not a good sailor and suffered much 
from seasickness on these voyages. Some of the 
trials of life on the ocean wave under rough condi- 
tions are described in a letter to her friend Mrs. 
Sitwell: 

"As for me, I hate the sea and am afraid of it 
(though no one will believe that because in time of 
danger I do not make an outcry), but I love the tropic 
weather and the wild people, and to see my two boys 
so happy. ... To keep house on a yacht is no easy 
matter. When I was deathly sick the question was 
put to me by the cook: 'What shall we have for the 
cabin dinner, what for to-morrow's breakfast, what 
for lunch, and what about the sailors' food? And 
please come and look at the biscuits, for the weevils 
have got into them, and show me how to make yeast 
that will rise of itself, and smell the pork, which 
seems pretty high, and give me directions about 
making a pudding with molasses, etc.* In the midst 
of heavy dangerous weather, when I was lying on 
the floor in utter misery, down comes the mate with 
a cracked head, and I must needs cut off the blood- 
clotted hair, wash and dress the wound, and admin- 
ister restoratives. I do not like being the *lady of 
the yacht,' but ashore — oh, then I feel I am repaid 
for all!" 

Even Louis himself, lover of the sea though he was, 
was forced to acknowledge that under some circum- 
stances his capricious mistress had her unpleasant 
moods. "The sea," he writes to Sidney Colvin, "is 
a terrible place, stupefying to the mind and poisonous 
to the temper — the motion, the lack of space, the 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 137 

cruel publicity, the villainous tinned foods, the sailors, 
the passengers." Again he remarks concerning the 
food: "Our diet had been from the pickle tub or out 
of tins; I had learned to welcome shark's flesh for a 
variety; and an onion, an Irish potato, or a beefsteak 
had been long lost to sense and dear to aspira- 
tion." 

But the glamour of romance and the joy of seeing 
her husband gaining strength hour by hour made all 
these annoyances seem things of small account, and, 
just as the time spent at Hyeres was the happiest in 
Louis's life, so these South Sea days were the best 
of all for her. 

It had been decided that their first landfall should 
be at the Marquesas, a group which lay quite out of 
the beaten track of travel, three thousand miles from 
the American coast. Peacefully the days slipped by, 
with no event to record, until, on July 28, 1888, their 
first tropic island rose out of the sea and sent them 
in greeting a breeze laden with the perfume of a 
thousand strange flowers. They first dropped anchor 
in Anaho Bay, Nukahiva Island, which, except for 
one white trader, was occupied solely by natives, but 
lately converted from cannibalism. As both Steven- 
son and his wife were citizens of the world in their 
sympathies, it was not long before they were on terms 
of perfect friendliness with the inhabitants. Soon 
after landing, Mrs. Stevenson's housekeeping instincts 
came to the front, and she set to work to Icaria fomc- 
thing about the native cookery. Her mother-in-law 
writes : 

"Fanny was determined to get lessons in the 



^ 



138 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

proper making of *kaku,' so went ashore armed with 
a bowl and beater. Kaku is baked breadfruit, with 
a sauce of cocoanut cream, which is made by beating 
up the soft pulp of the green nut with the juice, and 
is delicious."* 

Although the Casco had been originally built solely 
for coast sailing, and was scarcely fit for battling with 
wind and wave on the open sea, it was decided to take 
the risk and lay their course for Tahiti through the 
Dangerous Archipelago. After taking on a mate 
who was thoroughly acquainted with those waters, 
and a Chinese named Ah Fu to serve them as cook, 
they sailed away from the Marquesas. Ah Fu had 
been brought to the islands when a child, a forlorn 
little slave among a band of labourers sent by a con- 
tractor to work on the plantations, although, as the 
contract called for grown men, it was fraudulent to 
send a child. On the islands the boy grew up tall 
and robust, abandoned the queue, and no longer 
looked in the least like a Chinese. He became one of 
the most important members of the Stevenson family, 
remaining with them for two years. He was intensely 
attached to Mrs. Stevenson, carrying his devotion so 
far that once during a storm, when the ship was 
apparently about to go to the bottom, he appropriated 
the signal halyards, for which she had expressed an 
admiration, to give her as a present, explaining that 
"if the ship went down they wouldn't want them, 
and if it were saved they would all be too grateful to 
miss them." When the time came for him to leave 
the Stevensons and return to his family in China, it 

* Tht Letters 0/ Mtz. M. I. Stevenion, Saranac to Marquesas. 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 139 

nearly broke his heart to go. Mrs. Stevenson writes 
of him: 

"Ah Fu had as strong a sense of romance as Louis 
himself. He returned to China with a belt of gold 
around his waist, a ninety dollar breech loader given 
him by Louis, and a boxful of belongings. His inten- 
tion was to leave these great riches with a member of 
his family who lived outside the village, dress himself 
in beggar's rags, and then go to his mother's house 
to solicit alms. He would draw from her the account 
of the son who had been lost when he was a little 
child, and, at the psychological moment, when the 
poor lady was weeping. Ah Fu would cry out: 'Behold 
your son returned to you, not a beggar, as I appear, 
but a man of wealth !'" 

On September 8 they ran into the lagoon of Faka- 
rava, a typical low island forming a great ring some 
eighty miles in circumference by only a couple of 
hundred yards in width, and lying not more than 
twenty feet above the sea. Their experiences during 
a fortnight's stay on this bird's roost in the Pacific 
are thus described by Mrs. Stevenson: 

"Leaving the yacht Casco in the lagoon, we hired 
a cottage on the beach where we lived for several 
weeks. Fakarava is an atoll of the usual horseshoe 
shape, so narrow that one can walk across it in ten 
minutes, but of great circumference; it lay so little 
above the sea level that one had a sense of insecurity, 
justified by the terrible disasters following the last 
hurricane in the group. Not far from where we lived 
the waves had recently swept over the narrow strip 
of coral during a storm. Our life passed in a gentle 



^ 



140 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

monotony of peace. At sunrise we walked from our 
front door into the warm, shallow waters of the lagoon 
for our bath; we cooked our breakfast on the remains 
of an old American cooking stove I discovered on the 
beach, and spent the rest of the morning sorting over 
the shells we had found the previous day. After 
lunch and a siesta we crossed the island to the wind- 
ward side and gathered more shells. Sometimes we 
would find the strangest fish stranded in pools be- 
tween the rocks by the outgoing tide, many of them 
curiously shaped and brilliantly colored. Some of 
the most gorgeous were poisonous to eat, and capable 
of inflicting very unpleasant wounds with their fins. 
The captain suffered for a long time with a sort of 
paralysis in a finger he had scratched when handling 
a fish with a beak like a parrot. . . . 

"The close of the placid day marked the beginning 
of the most agreeable part of the twenty -four hours; 
it was the time of the moon, and the shadows that 
fell from the cocoanut leaves were so sharply defined 
that one involuntarily stepped over them. After a 
simple dinner and a dip in the soft sea, we awaited 
our invariable visitor, M. Donat Rimareau, the half- 
caste vice-president. As it was not the season for 
pearl fishing, there were no white men on the island, 
though now and again a schooner with a French cap- 
tain would appear and disappear like a phantom ship. 
The days were almost intolerably hot, but with the 
setting of the sun a gentle breeze sprang up. We 
spent the evenings in the moonlight, sitting on mat- 
tresses spread on the veranda, our only chair being 
reserved for our guest. The conversation with 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 141 

M. Rimareau, who was half Tahitian, was delightful. 
Night after night we sat entranced at his feet, thrilled 
by stories of Tahiti and the Paumotus, always of a 
supernatural character. There was a strange sect in 
Fakarava called the 'Whistlers,' resembling the spiri- 
tualists of our country, but greater adepts. When 
M. Rimareau spoke of these people and their super- 
stitions his voice sank almost to a whisper, and he 
cast fearful glances over his shoulder at the black 
shadows of the palms. I remember one of the stories 
was of the return of the soul of a dead child, the soul 
being wrapped in a leaf and dropped in at the door 
of the sorrowing parents. I am sure that when my 
husband came to write The Isle of Voices he had our 
evenings in Fakarava and the stories of M. Rimareau 
in mind. I know that I never read The Isle of Voices 
without a mental picture rising before me of the 
lagoon and the cocoa palms and the wonderful moon- 
light of Fakarava." * 

It was the Fakaravans who gave the name of Pahi 
Muni, the shining or silver ship, to the Casco. 

Here the two ladies of the Stevenson party took 
lessons from the niece of a chief in plaiting hats of 
bamboo shavings and pandanus, and Mrs. Louis 
learned how to make them beautifully. This hat- 
making is the constant " fancy-work " of all Tahitian 
women, and serves in lieu of the tatting and embroi- 
dery of civilized lands. The best hats are made of the 
stalks of the arrowroot plant. 

In the last week of September, bidding a regretful 
farewell to M. Rimareau and his delightful moonlight 

* Preface by Mrs. Stevenson to Island Nights Entertainments. 



142 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

talks, they set sail for Papeete, the capital and port 
of entry of the Society Group — most beautiful of all 
the islands of the Pacific. But, though they were 
entranced with the grandeur and charm of its scenery 
— its towering cliffs, leaping cascades, and green, 
palm-fringed flat land of the coast — Papeete did not 
treat them well, and their old enemy, which had for- 
gotten them for some happy months, again found 
them out there and Louis had a severe relapse, with 
a return of the hemorrhages. It was clear that Pa- 
peete did not agree with him, and it was decided to 
remove him to a more suitable place. After a perilous 
trip around the island in the Casco, during which the 
ship was twice nearly lost on the reefs, they reached 
Taravao, but found it hot and full of mosquitoes. 
Mr. Stevenson was now very ill, and it was impera- 
tively necessary, not only to find a more salubrious 
spot, but also some means of transporting him to it. 
His wife, equal to the occasion, as always, set out on 
foot across the island, following a trail until she 
reached the shanty of a Chinese who had a wagon 
and a pair of horses. "These she hired to take them 
to Tautira, the nearest village of any size, a distance 
of sixteen miles over a road crossed by one-and-twenty 
streams. Stevenson was placed in the cart, and, sus- 
tained by small doses of coca, managed, with the 
help of his wife and their servant, to reach his desti- 
nation before he collapsed altogether." * 

They found a house and made him as comfortable 
as possible. It was not long before Princess Moe, 
ex-queen of Raiatea, and a most charming person, 

* The Life of Robert Louis Stevenson, by Graham Balfour. 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 143 

heard of their arrival and came to see them. "I 
feel," writes Mrs. Stevenson, "that she saved Louis's 
life. He was lying in a deep stupor when she first 
saw him, suffering from congestion of the lungs and 
a burning fever. She made him a dish of raw fish 
salad, the first thing he had eaten for days; he liked 
it and began to pick up from that day. As soon as 
he was well enough she invited us to live with her in 
the house of Ori, the sub-chief of the village, and we 
gladly accepted her invitation." There they lived 
as "in fairyland, the guests of a beautiful brown 
princess." 

When the Casco had been brought around to Tau- 
tira it was discovered in a peculiar way that their 
danger in the recent trip from Papeete had been 
greater than they had realized. The elder Mrs. 
Stevenson gave a feast on board to a number of native 
women, and during its progress one of the women 
offered a prayer for their deliverance from the perils 
of the sea, praying especially that if anything were 
wrong with the ship it might be discovered in time. 
The elder Mrs. Stevenson had tried in vain to per- 
suade Captain Otis to go to church at the places 
where they stopped. This time the church came to 
him and he couldn't escape, but stood leaning dis- 
gustedly against the mast while the prayer was said. 
After the visitors left he made some impatient excla- 
mation against "psalm-singing natives," and struck 
the mast a hard blow with his fist. It went through 
into decayed wood, and the captain was aghast. 
Mrs. Stevenson, on her part, was triumphant, and 
she always loved to tell that story and dwell on the 



144 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

expression of the scoffing captain's face as he saw a 
prayer answered. Both masts were found to be 
almost entirely eaten out with dry-rot, and if either 
had gone by the board off the reefs of any of the 
islands nothing could have saved the Casco from going 
to the bottom. The ship was at once sent to Papeete 
for repairs, but as it was impossible to obtain new 
masts of a proper size there, they were obliged to be 
content with patching up the old ones. This let the 
party in for a long stay at Tautira, at which none 
repined, for the scenery and climate were delightful, 
and their new friends hospitable and interesting. 

Following island custom, Mrs. Louis Stevenson 
and the Princess Moe exchanged names — each tak- 
ing the name of the other's mother — that of Mrs. 
Stevenson being Terii-Tauma-Terai, part of which 
meant heaven and part gave her a claim to some land 
in the neighbourhood. 

Chief Ori a Ori (Ori of Ori, a clan name) was a 
magnificent figure of a man, standing six feet three 
and broad and strong in proportion. "He looked 
like nothing so much as a Roman emperor in bronze,'* 
says Mrs. Stevenson, and when he appeared at a 
feast with a wreath of golden yellow leaves on his 
head, all the company cried out in admiration. As 
he spoke very good French, communication with him 
was easy, and many a pleasant evening was spent in 
his house at Tautira, exchanging strange tales of old, 
wild, bloody days in the Scottish Highlands and in 
the Southern Seas. Both the Stevensons conceived a 
warm friendship for Ori, which endured as long as 
they lived. 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 145 

As they used to do in Barbizon, in the old French 
days, Mrs. Louis Stevenson set herself to making sil- 
houettes of the different members of the strangely 
assorted company, gathered from the four quarters 
of the globe. First she did the portrait of Ori by 
throwing the shadow of his head on the wall with the 
help of a lamp, then drawing the outline and filling it 
in with India ink. It turned out so good that Ori 
demanded likenesses of all the rest, and soon the 
house was turned into a veritable picture-gallery. 

A feast was given by the chief for the captain of 
the Casco, and, says the elder Mrs. Stevenson, "Ori 
had such respect for Fanny's cooking powers that he 
insisted she should prepare the feast; so she stuffed 
and cooked a pair of fowls, two roast pigs, and made 
a pudding." 

These days of pleasant intimacy with the Steven- 
sons were doubtless the brightest in the whole life of 
the island chief, and he kept them always in affection- 
ate remembrance. Years afterwards, when Mrs. 
Stevenson was living in San Francisco after the death 
of her husband, two of her friends, Doctor and Mrs. 
Russell Cool, went to Tahiti, and were commissioned 
by her to visit Chief Ori a Ori. The Cools took with 
them a phonograph and themselves made records of 
a speech by Ori to Mrs. Stevenson, which, with its 
translation, was afterwards reproduced for her in 
San Francisco. But let us hear Mrs. Cool's own 
story of this visit: 

"Ori had never seen a phonograph in his life, but 
his interest was that of a clever and civilized person — 
with none of the ignorance and terror and supersti- 



146 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

tion of a savage. He was more than interested in 
everything relating to Louis and Tamaitai,* asking 
all sorts of questions, intelligent ones, too, about 
their life in Samoa; then in San Francisco; about 
Tamaitai's personal appearance — if her hair was 
gray; whether she had a town house and country 
house, and whether they were near the ocean and 
the mountains. He had a perfect picture when we 
had answered them all, and he was so pleased and 
grateful to us — bearers of interesting news. All this 
time we sat out on the veranda of his cottage, on a 
moonlight night almost too heavenly to be real — a 
tropical night filled with beauty and romance. Then 
there was a lull in the conversation, and Ori said: 
'And now tell me about John L. Sullivan !' We fell 
down from romantic heights with a thud ! Then we 
reflected that as Louis was the greatest man intellec- 
tually that Ori "had ever met, so John L. Sullivan, the 
famous fighter, was the greatest man in that line of 
his time. The islanders, in common with other 
primitive peoples, admire physical perfection tremen- 
dously, and feats of strength are celebrated in fable, 
song, and story. To Ori there was nothing incon- 
gruous in placing John L. Sullivan, the famous prize- 
fighter, and Robert Louis Stevenson, the noted 
writer — two great men — side by side. 

"We stayed all night out at Ori's place, and as a 
mark of honor my husband was given Louis's bed 
and I was given Tamaitai's. Ori's wife, a little dear, 
kissed our hands all round because we came from 
Tamaitai. Their love and admiration for her was 

* Tamaitai was the Samoan name of Mrs. Stevenson. 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 147 

so sincere and touching — it is the sweetest memory I 
have of Tahiti. We went to see Ori especially for 
Tamaitai, for she wished to know the condition of 
his eyes, and whether he needed glasses. His eyes 
were all right then, but later on developed some 
trouble, but he was so very old at that time that he 
was not willing to make the trip around the island 
for examination." 

In 1906 the Society Islands were devastated by a 
terrific hurricane, and, hearing that Ori had suffered 
great loss, Mrs. Stevenson sent him a sum of money 
to help tide him over the crisis. He was very grateful 
for this assistance and wrote her a letter of heartfelt 
thanks, saying the money would be used to build a 
new house for himself and family to take the place 
of the houses that had been swept away. 

Two dream-like months were spent on this lovely 
island of Tautira, while day after day, like ship- 
wrecked mariners, they scanned the sea in vain for 
some signs of the long-delayed Casco. At last provi- 
sions fell so low that there seemed no prospect ahead 
of them but to live on the charity of their kind friend 
Ori, Thinking of this one day Mrs. Stevenson could 
not restrain her tears, and the chief, divining the 
cause of her distress, said to Louis: "You are my 
brother; all that I have is yours. I know that your 
food is done, but I can give you plenty of fish and 
taro. We like you and wish to have you here. Stay 
where you are till the Casco comes. Be happy — et ne 
pleurez pas!" They were deeply moved by this 
generous offer from a man to whose island they had 
come as utter strangers, and to celebrate the occasion 



148 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

Louis opened a bottle of champagne, which, curiously 
enough, was all that was left in their provision-chest. 
From this time they lived almost entirely on native 
food — raw fish with sauce made of cocoanut milk 
mixed with sea-water and lime-juice, bananas roasted 
in a little pit in the ground, with cocoanut cream to 
eat with them, etc. All this sounds luxurious, but 
after some time on this diet the white man begins to 
feel a consuming longing for beefsteak and bread and 
coffee. 

At last the repaired Casco hove in sight, and, after 
a heart-breaking farewell from their now beloved 
friend, Ori a Ori, and his family, they set sail for 
Honolulu. The voyage of thirty days was a wild 
and stormy one, and they were obliged to beat about 
the Hawaiian Islands for some days before they 
could enter, eating up the last of their food twenty- 
four hours before arrival, but finally the Silver Ship, 
flying like a bird before a spanking trade-wind, ran 
into port around the bold point of Diamond Head. 
The deep translucent blue of the water was broken 
by ruffles of dazzling foam where treacherous reefs 
lay hidden, and on the horizon lay piles of those fat 
feather-bed clouds that are never seen so intensely 
white in any other place. Their arrival was the 
cause of great rejoicing to Mrs. Stevenson's daughter, 
who was then living in Honolulu, for the Casco, long 
overdue, had been given up as lost. 

They found Honolulu very beautiful. Taking a 
house at Waikiki, a short distance from town, they 
settled down to finish The Master of Ballantrae. In 
these surroundings, which seemed to them ultra- 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 149 

civilized after their experiences in the Marquesas 
and the Societies, they were able to enjoy a little 
family life. Under a great ^aw-tree that stood in the 
garden a birthday-party was given to Austin Strong, 
the little son of Mrs. Stevenson's daughter. Just as 
though it had been prearranged, in the midst of the 
party who should come along but an Italian with a 
performing bear, the first that any of the children 
had ever seen ! The silent witness to these festivities 
of years ago, the great hau-tree, still stands. 

It was at this time that Stevenson began work on 
the scheme of his book on the South Seas. This was 
one of the rare occasions when he and his wife reached 
a deadlock in their opinions, and, unfortunately for 
the success of the book, he refused to accept her 
advice. Writing to Sir Sidney Colvin, she says: 

"I am very much exercised by one thing. Louis 
has the most enchanting material that any one ever 
had in the whole world for his book, and I am afraid 
he is going to spoil it all. He has taken into his 
Scotch-Stevenson head that a stern duty lies before 
him, and that his book must be a sort of scientific 
and historical, impersonal thing, comparing the dif- 
ferent languages (of which he knows nothing really) 
and the different peoples, the object being to settle 
the question as to whether they are of common 
Malay origin or not. . . . Think of a small treatise 
on the Polynesian races being offered to people who 
are dying to hear about Ori a Ori, the * making of 
brothers* with cannibals, the strange stories they 
told, and the extraordinary adventures that befell 
us ! Louis says it is a stern sense of duty that is at 



150 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

the bottom of it, which is more alarming than any- 
thing else. . . . What a thing it is to have a man 
of genius to deal with ! It is like managing an over- 
bred horse ! " 

"This letter," justly comments Sir Sidney, "shows 
the writer in her character of wise and anxious critic 
of her husband's work. The result, in the judgment 
of most of his friends, went far to justify her mis- 
givings." 

It had been their intention to return to England 
by way of America in the following summer, but the 
state of Mr. Stevenson's health was still not good 
enough to warrant this venture, and, besides, the 
short cruise among the islands in the Casco had but 
whetted their appetites for more. It was finally de- 
cided that while the elder Mrs. Stevenson went on 
a visit to Scotland the rest of the party should sail 
again for the South Seas, and they began at once to 
make preparations. The charter of the Casco having 
come to an end, it was necessary to find another ves- 
sel. All these details were taken in hand by Mrs. 
Stevenson and her son, while Louis went to Molokai 
to visit the leper colony, in which he had become in- 
tensely interested after discovering that every island 
visited in the Casco was afflicted with the curse of 
leprosy. They saw many distressing cases, and their 
admiration for Father Damien and his unexampled 
heroism rose higher and higher. It was while they 
were in Honolulu that Mr. Stevenson read the letter 
written by the Reverend Mr. Hyde, and printed in a 
missionary paper, which inspired his eloquent defence 
of Father Damien, afterwards written and published 
in Sydney, Australia. 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 151 

In the meantime Mrs. Stevenson made arrange- 
ments to charter the Equator, a trading schooner of 
only sixty-four tons register, but stanchly built and 
seaworthy, and having the added advantage of being 
commanded by a skilful mariner. Captain Denny 
Reid. On June 24, 1889, taking the faithful Ah Fu 
as cook, and this time accompanied by Mrs. Steven- 
son's son-in-law, Joseph Strong, they sailed away for 
the Gilbert Islands. During their stay in Honolulu 
they had struck up a great friendship with the inter- 
esting and genial King Kalakaua, and on the day of 
their departure he appeared at the wharf with the 
royal band of musicians to see them off in proper style. 

As Mrs. Strong, Mrs. Stevenson's daughter, did 
not wish to leave her son Austin and the voyage was 
considered too hazardous for so young a child, she 
went to Sydney to await the arrival of the Equator. 

Through lovely days and glorious nights they sailed 
along, the little schooner lying so low in the water 
that they were brought close to the sea, "with a sort 
of intimacy that those on large ships, especially 
steamers, can never know." 

Captain Reid is described by Mrs. Stevenson as 
"a small fiery Scotch-Irishman, full of amusing eccen- 
tricities, and always a most gay and charming com- 
panion." Beneath this jolly sea-dog exterior, how- 
ever, some eccentricities lay hidden that the crew did 
not always find amusing. Hearing a noise of splash- 
ing in the water by the ship's side, Mrs. Stevenson 
found on inquiry that it was the captain taking his 
regular morning bath while surrounded by a circle 
of sailors to keep off the sharks. When she asked 
him if he did not think it selfish to expose the sailors 



152 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

to the danger in order to protect himself, he answered : 
"No, for if the captain should be lost think how 
much worse it would be for all on board than if it 
were a mere sailor!" 

Their first stop in the Gilberts was at the port of 
Butaritari in the island of Great Makin, their arrival 
being unfortunately timed to strike the town just 
when the taboo against strong drink had been tem- 
porarily lifted by the king, and the whole population 
was engaged in a wild carouse. For a few days their 
situation seemed precarious, but the king at length 
restored the taboo, and after that peace settled again 
over the island. 

After a stay of about a month at Butaritari they 
moved to Apemama, ruled over by the strong and 
despotic king Tembinoka, who, although usually un- 
favourable to whites, admitted the Stevensons to his 
closest friendship. He said he was able to judge all 
people by their eyes and mouths, and, they having 
passed his examination successfully, he proceeded at 
once to do all in his power to make them comfortable. 
They were provided with four houses, "charming lit- 
tle basket-work affairs, something like bird-cages, 
standing on stilts about four feet above the ground, 
with hanging lids for doors and windows,'* and a 
retinue of several more or less useless servants, who 
spent most of their time in frolicking. 

When they chartered the Equator it had been in 
the agreement that the ship should be permitted to 
engage in her legitimate occupation of trading in the 
islands when opportunity offered. She now went off 
on a cruise for copra, while the Stevensons stayed on 
shore at Apemama, where they spent six peaceful 



i 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 153 

weeks. As they were again marooned longer than 
they expected, provisions began to run short, and it 
became necessary to live on the products of the 
island. Wild chickens were plentiful, and the handy 
Ah Fu found no difficulty in shooting them with a 
gun borrowed from the king, but a constant diet of 
these birds finally palled on them, and they were 
overjoyed when some of the king's fishermen caught 
several large turtles. **Never," says Mrs. Stevenson, 
"was anything more welcome than these turtle 
steaks!" The long deprivation of green vegetables 
caused a great desire for them, and Louis said: "I 
think I could shed tears over a dish of turnips !" As 
Mrs. Stevenson always carried garden -seeds with 
her, she took advantage of their extended stay here 
to plant onions and radishes, which soon came up 
and were received with intense appreciation. 

The shrewd Tembinoka, judge and critic of his fel- 
low men, whom they found to be the most interesting 
of all their South Sea acquaintances, did not fail to 
perceive unusual qualities in the wife of his guest. 
He remarked: "She good; look pretty; plenty chench 
(sense)." 

The king desired a new design for a flag, and all 
set to work to produce a suitable one. Mrs. Steven- 
son's drawing, which consisted of three vertical 
stripes of green, red, and yellow, with a horizontal 
shark of black showing white teeth and a white eye, 
pleased him best and was adopted. The design was 
afterwards sent to Sydney and Tembinoka's flag 
manufactured from it. The shark was a neat refer- 
ence to the king's supposed descent, of which he was 
very proud, from a fish of that species. 



154 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

Finding that the whole island was rapidly falling 
away from Christianity, the king the worst of all, the 
Stevensons felt it to be their duty to go to church 
every Sunday, to set an example, although they 
understood nothing of the services, which were con- 
ducted in the native language. During the latter 
part of their stay they gave an exhibition of magic- 
lantern pictures — wretched daubs, it is true — of the 
life of Christ. That their efforts to do good were not 
all in vain was proved by the gratifying news received 
some time afterwards that all the natives, including 
the despot king, were returning to their Christian 
duties and the big church was full again. 

The absence of the Equator was so prolonged that 
they were in great alarm lest she might be lost, but 
at last she hove in sight. 

After much discussion during the long days aboard 
ship and ashore, their plans had been definitely formed 
to make Apia, Samoa, their next port of call, and bid- 
ding farewell, with many regrets, to the island king, 
the little schooner once more raised her sails to the 
breeze. Stern old savage as Tembinoka was, he 
could not restrain his tears when he saw these de- 
lightful visitors from across the seas sail away for- 
ever, leaving him to the dull society of his many 
wives, whom he described as "good woman, but not 
very smart." Later, while living in Samoa, they 
were pained to hear of the death of their dear old 
friend Tembinoka, king of the island where they had 
spent so many happy days. It seemed that he had 
an abscess on his leg, and one of the native doctors 
lanced it with an unclean fish-bone, which caused 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 155 

blood-poisoning and the death of the king in great 
agony. For the better protection of his heir he left 
directions that his body should be buried in the centre 
of the royal residence, no doubt with the idea of 
frightening away evil-doers through their supersti- 
tious fears. 

This time they took with them a passenger, a Ger- 
man trader named Hoflich, of whom Lloyd Osbourne 
TSTites : 

"Wlien Paul Hoflich, then trading in Butaritari, 
learned that Louis had chartered the Equator for 
Samoa, he packed up his merchandise and with this 
and twenty tons of copra engaged passage for the 
neighboring island of Maraki, distant about sixty 
miles. For this passage he paid sixty dollars. In 
spite of all efforts, however, the Equator failed to 
reach Maraki, being foiled by light airs and violent 
currents; so there was nothing left to do but to carry 
Paul on with us to Samoa, and though the captain 
tried to make him pay an increased passage he smil- 
ingly but firmly refused. We always thought that 
the twenty tons of copra saved our lives, for it stiff- 
ened the ship in the dreadful little hurricane that 
almost capsized us." 

I shall let Paul Hoflich tell his own story of the 
days when he cruised with the Stevensons, in the let- 
ters he was kind enough to write me: 

"My dear Mrs. Sanchez: 

"In reply to your letter to pen any little happen- 
ings concerning Mr. R. L. Stevenson while I was with 
the Stevenson party on board the old Equator, I may 



156 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

say that I am very pleased to do so, but I am afraid 
the results will be meagre, for the length of time I 
had the pleasure of being with them did not exceed 
ten weeks. Besides, it is now just twenty-seven 
years ago. I boarded the Equator while she was 
among the islands cruising for copra, and in due time 
we reached Apemama and dropped anchor in the 
lagoon near the king's boat fleet. Going on shore we 
found the party hale and much pleased with the 
ship's arrival. In the evening the king, a fat and 
clever native, paid a visit and entertained us by tell- 
ing about his ancestors. On the mother's side they 
came from a shark, and the father resigned in his 
favor, as he was not so high a chief as his son, the 
descendant of the shark. 

"Mrs. Stevenson told us she had a garden planted 
with all kinds of things, but the soil was stubborn 
and would not yield anything good but cocoanuts; 
in fact, all the plants seemed to be growing into 
cocoanut trees. She also told us about her first 
experience as a medicine man. One day a man came 
along, sat down, and complained of a severe head- 
ache, asking for *binika,' by which he meant pain- 
killer. The lady thought he meant vinegar, and told 
him it was useless against a headache, but he per- 
sisted. So a generous portion was poured out and 
handed to him, to be used externally. He received 
it, smelled it, and suspicion was visible on his counte- 
nance, but, being too polite to return it, he swallowed 
the whole and returned the glass, profusely thanking 
Mrs. Stevenson. He then rose and left, more sick 
than when he came. 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 157 

"The king offered Mrs. Stevenson a sewing- 
machine, saying he had a houseful of them, and as 
his arsenal was short of boat anchors he used the 
sewing-machines as such for his fleet. 

"In a few days everything was snug, and we left 
the moorings to beat through the passage, and from 
there pointed her head for Maraki. A nice breeze 
favored us, but gradually it moderated, and as the 
weary days dragged on a rumor started that there 
was a Jonah on board. At first we eyed each other 
with distrust, then it was whispered and at last openly 
declared that I must be the Jonah. I mildly pro- 
tested, saying that Mrs. Stevenson was most likely 
to blame. I told them all sorts of stories to prove 
that sailors believed that a woman on board would 
bring bad luck to a ship, but all to no avail. Their 
idea that the passenger for Maraki was a Jonah had 
taken firm hold. Worse still, I began to believe it 
myself, and made up my mind to jump the ship as 
soon as I had a chance. 

"In the meantime we were creeping slowly along 
until one morning, lo and behold, my island hove in 
sight. As the sun rose the breeze freshened and I 
got hilarious. We were drawing nearer our anchor- 
age in good style and could see my station now 
plainly, and the natives gathering on the beach. I 
pictured myself already landing amidst their shouts 
of welcome, when, to my horror — I shudder even now 
as I pen these lines — the wind died out. I whistled 
for wind until my lips blistered, but all in vain, for 
the breeze kept straight up and down. Jonah was 
at work again. I demanded loudly of the captain 



158 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 



■^ 



to be put on shore, but he only shrugged his shoulders. 
The argument brought up Mr. Stevenson, who said 
"What about that for a boat?' nodding at a certain 
small deck house. 'It resembles a skiff, and I dare- 
say the trade-room will spare a pair of paddles.' 
'The very thing,' said I, and began sharpening my 
sheath knife to cut the lashings. While I got busy 
Mrs. Stevenson came to me and I told her what way 
I was going on shore. 'Why,' she said, 'if you make 
your appearance in a miserable craft of that kind 
your reputation on Maraki will be gone forever. Be- 
sides they might take you for a Jonah fresh from a 
whale and turn you right back to sea again. It 
would be safer to stay on board and make another 
attempt to reach Maraki, this time via Samoa.' I 
did not think I was getting quite a square deal, but 
I stayed. The current had taken us out of sight of 
land when a strong and fair breeze sprang up and 
carried us by noon next day to our anchorage in 
Butaritari lagoon. 

"Here the party went ashore, biding the vessel 
getting ready for sea. In a week we lifted anchor 
and made for the passage, but the Equator was un- 
willing to leave. She hung on to a reef, and not 
until she had parted with her false keel would she 
push on and gain the open. During the first few 
weeks we had to beat to the eastward, which brought 
much calm and rainy weather. Mrs. Stevenson soon 
found that her berth was not the driest place in the 
ship. The tropical sun had warped the decks so 
that the rain found its way into the cabins. So Mrs. 
Stevenson would emigrate to the galley-way with 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 159 

her couch, and, with the help of an umbrella in- 
geniously handled, manage to do fairly well for a 
night's rest. 

"One calm morning she called to tell us that sharks 
were around, and that one of them was wearing the 
glasses Mr. Osbourne had lost out of a boat at Ma- 
raki. Sure enough there were lots of them, and we 
soon had shark and chain hooks over the side, pulling 
them in and despatching them quickly and painlessly, 
but we never caught the one with the glasses on. 
Mrs. Stevenson said he could probably see a little 
better than the others. Now it seems that all these 
sharks stirred the appetite of Mr. Stevenson for 
shark steak — at least he advocated making a meal of 
them. Mrs. Stevenson mildly remonstrated, point- 
ing out that it would be gruesome to eat the ancestors 
of Tembinoka, the man who had sheltered them for 
weeks. Mr. Stevenson could not see so far back, 
so the shark steak came on the table, but his wife 
managed to evade it. At last a breeze sprang up 
and the sharks took their leave. 

"One night it blew stiff and we shortened sail, but 
with little advantage. The ship capered about till 
she had her topmast overboard with the jib attached 
to it. This episode occasioned the composition of 
the song 'On board the old Equator,* by Mrs. Steven- 
son and Mr. Osbourne, I believe for Mr. Stevenson's 
birthday. I sang it on that occasion for the first 
time, and later at Apia at a dinner given for the ship. 
This was before Mr. Stevenson had given away his 
birthday,* so he was allowed to enjoy it, as did we 

* See The Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson, page 279. 



160 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

all. Speeches were made and we drank his health, 
severally and all together. We felt as happy as any 
crew on board of a 20,000 tonner." 



Of this jolly party, gathered together by the cam- 
araderie of the sea, Lloyd Osbourne writes: 

*'The rousing chorus was sung in unison: 'Captain 
darling, where has your topmast gone, I pray? Cap- 
tain darling, where has your topmast gone?' Such 
things sound foolish years afterwards, but at the time 
are gay and funny. Now, looking back, it seems as 
though the incongruity of the party was the funniest 
thing about it — Louis, my mother, myself, the boy- 
ish young Scotch captain, the big Norwegian mate, 
the Finnish second mate. Rick, a Russian ex-sea- 
captain, Paul Hdflich, Joe Strong the artist, all the 
very best of friends, who had lived a month together 
crowded to suffocation, and yet were better friends 
than ever when they left the ship." 

To continue the story of Paul Hoflich: 
"On the twenty-sixth morning out Mrs. Stevenson 
called from the deck: 'Come up and see Samoa!' 
Proudly the vessel cut her way towards the moun- 
tainous island covered with dark green forest from 
peak to beach. We were all struck with its beauty 
and elated with expectations as to its hidden shadowy 
secrets. Inside of an hour we dropped anchor in the 
port of Apia, and a friend came off and took the 
party on shore. The vessel's stay was five days, and 
then we up sails and pointed her head for Maraki, to 



♦ 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 161 

get rid of the last passenger, the Jonah of the voyage. 
Before our departure Mr. Stevenson gave a dinner, 
where we gathered for the last time around the 
hospitable board. Needless to say, I was in love 
with the island and acquired a piece of land to bring 
me back for sure.* 

"As I look back now I cannot help admiring Mrs. 
Stevenson for her bravery and endurance in her reso- 
lution to remain with her husband. For us men this 
life was right enough, but for a refined woman it 
meant great hardship. When Mr. Stevenson, in his 
birthday speech on board, said with moist eyes that 
he had never enjoyed a voyage and company so well 
as ours, Mrs. Stevenson deserved the largest share of 
that praise. I remember how she took care of him. 
A doctor in Tahiti, who apprehended his early end, 
gave his wife a vial of medicine, which she carried 
sewn in her dress for three years to have it handy. I 
have a much-prized photograph of her on which she 
wrote 'Dear Paul. This is to remind you of the days 
when we were so happy on board of the old Equator* 
This gives me a sad pleasure in recalling the old 
times when the South Seas seemed to us so much 
brighter than now. Civilization is coming to the 
natives at the rate of geometrical progression, and 
soon their good qualities will be swept away by greed 
and false education. 

"I have the honor to remain. 

Yours faithfully, 

P. HOFLICH." 

* Mr. Haflich returned to Samoa a year or two later to remain, and 
was always a valued friend of the Stevensons. 



162 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

That the voyage was a rough one is clear from Mr. 
Stevenson's description in a letter to Sir Sidney 
Colvin : 

"On board the Equator, 190 miles off Samoa. We 
are just nearing the end of our long cruise. Rain, 
calms, squalls, bang — there's the fore-topmast gone; 
rain, calms, squalls — away with the staysail; more 
rain, more calms, more squalls; a prodigious heavy 
sea all the time, and the Equator staggering and hover- 
ing like a swallow in a storm; and the cabin, a great 
square, crowded with wet human beings, and the 
rain avalanching on the deck, and the leaks dripping 
everywhere; Fanny, in the midst of fifteen males, 
bearing up wonderfully." She rejoiced, nevertheless, 
that her mother-in-law had not accompanied them on 
this voyage, with its extreme discomfort and hard- 
ship, but adds, "and yet I would do it all over again." 

In the early part of December, 1889, they arrived 
at the Navigator Islands — so called by Bougainville 
because of the skill with which the natives managed 
their canoes and sailed them far out to sea — and, as 
related above by Paul Hoflich, dropped anchor in 
the harbour of Apia. They were not especially at- 
tracted to this place at first, the scenery being of a 
softer and less striking character than that of Tahiti, 
but as time passed the charm of the place grew upon 
them more and more, and finally they decided to 
make it their permanent headquarters between 
cruises. To this end they bought four hundred acres 
in the "bush," as the great tropical forests are called, 
and after making arrangements for the erection of a 
temporary cabin during their absence, they sailed on 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 163 

the steamer Lubeck for Sydney, with the intention of 
going on from there for a visit to England. 

It was during this stay in Sydney that Mr. Ste- 
venson wrote his famous defense of Father Damien. 
When he realized that its publication might result in 
a suit for libel and the loss of all he had in the world, 
he thought it only right to ask for a vote of the 
family, for without their concurrence he would not 
take such a step. The vote was unanimously in 
favour of the publication. When the pamphlets were 
ready, his wife, with her son and daughter, set to work 
addressing them and sending them far and wide. It 
was certain that he would not appeal in vain in such 
a matter to his wife, for in their sympathies with the 
unfortunate and unjustly used they were as one. 

Their hopes of going to England, based on the long 
respite of eighteen months during which Mr. Steven- 
son had been free from his old trouble, were dashed 
to the ground by a severe cold caught in Sydney and 
a return of the hemorrhages. His only chance seemed 
to lie on the sea — in fact, the doctor said nothing 
would save him but the South Seas — but when his 
wife went to the water-front to secure passage she 
found that, owing to a sailors' strike, only one ship, 
the Janet Nichol, an iron-screw steamer of about six 
hundred tons, was going out. She went to the owners 
and asked to be taken, but they refused, on the 
ground that they didn't want women on board. 
Nevertheless she went right on, with pitiful persis- 
tence, with her preparations, and finally had the sick 
man carried down to the landing-place and rowed 
out to the ship. She had won out, but they received 



164 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

her very reluctantly. And such a ship ! It must 
have looked fine, however, to Mrs. Stevenson, after 
the Equator, for she writes: "Think of two bathrooms 
and only one other passenger besides ourselves, a 
nice long wide deck to walk on, steam to run away 
from squalls with, and no flopping about in calms.'* 
But when her daughter went on board to see them 
off she was horrified at the sight of it — black with 
coal dust, manned by Solomon Island "black boys,'* 
and just as they stepped on deck Tin Jack (Jack 
Buckland*) came up the gangway drunk and fell off 
into the water. It was pandemonium, but very ex- 
citing, and in the midst of it Mrs. Stevenson was 
calmly looking after her husband and keeping up a, 
smiling, courageous face. 

As soon as they were at sea Louis recovered, and 
after stopping off at Apia for a look at their new 
property, they went the rounds of the "low islands,'* 
visiting thirty- three in all. Although they confessed 
to a certain monotony in these islands, their adven- 
tures, of which Mrs. Stevenson kept a regular diary, 
were many and exciting. These notes were written 
for her husband's benefit, but as it happened that he 
made but slight use of them, she prepared them for 
publication herself in a volume called The Cruise of 
the Janet Nichol. "This diary," she says in her 
preface, "was written under the most adverse condi- 
tions — sometimes on the damp up-turned bottom of 
a canoe or whale-boat, sometimes when lying face 
downward on the burning sands of the tropic beach, 

* Tin is the equivalent in the islands for Mr. Jack Buckland was the 
living original of Tommy Haddon in The Wrecker. 



AWAY TO SUNNIER LANDS 165 

often in copra sheds in the midst of a pandemonium 
of noise and confusion, but oftener on board the roll- 
ing Janet, whose pet name was the Jumping Jenny, 
but never in comfortable surroundings." 

It was on this voyage, during which they were well 
tossed about by the frisky Janet, that the ship was 
set on fire by the spontaneous combustion of some 
fireworks in one of the cabins. In the midst of the 
excitement some native sailors were seen by Mrs. 
Stevenson about to toss overboard a blazing trunk. 
She stopped them in time and was thankful to dis- 
cover that she had saved all her husband's manu- 
scripts. 

At the end of the cruise, from which his health did 
not benefit as much as had been hoped, they returned 
to Sydney, meeting there a reception which, while 
irritating enough at the time, afterwards afforded 
them much amusement. They went directly from 
the ship to the most fashionable hotel, but, not being 
known there, their queer appearance, with their 
Tokalu buckets, mats, shells, straw hats, etc., brought 
upon them a severe snubbing. Then they went to 
the Oxford, a little old inn on George Street, where 
they were courteously received and given the whole 
first floor, without being asked to show their creden- 
tials. The next morning every paper in Sydney had 
their names on the front page, and all the clubs, 
societies, churches, and schools sent cards to the fine 
hotel, whose proprietor had to send a messenger three 
times a day to the Oxford with a basketful of letters 
for the Stevensons. The proprietor, now aware of 
what he had done, came in great chagrin to beg them 



166 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

to come back, and offered them the rooms for half 
price — for nothing — but they refused; and, besides, 
they were too comfortable at the Oxford to be willing 
to leave. After that, whenever Mrs. Stevenson went 
to Sydney she always stayed at the Oxford, for she 
was always loyal to those who showed her considera- 
tion. 

During their stay in Sydney at this time Mr. Ste- 
venson was so ill that he was compelled to keep his 
room, and all thought of a return to England was 
now definitely abandoned. Plans were set on foot for 
establishing a permanent residence in Samoa, and 
while Lloyd Osbourne went to England to bring the 
furniture from Skerryvore, the Stevensons returned 
to Apia and camped in a gate lodge on their place 
until the new house should be built. 



CHAPTER VIII 
THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 

It was in Samoa that the word "home" first began 
to have a real meaning for these gypsy wanderers, 
lured on as they had been half round the world in 
their quest of the will-o'-the-wisp, health. Having 
bought the land, which lay on rising ground about 
three miles from the town of iVpia, it was then neces- 
sary to find the money to build a house on it. After 
some thought, Mrs. Stevenson suggested that they 
might sell Skerryvore in England, and thus turn the 
one house directly into the other. As Skerryvore 
had been a gift to her from her father-in-law, Louis 
said, "But this money is yours," and he then said he 
would make it all right by leaving her the Samoan 
place in his will, which he did, "with all that it con- 
tained." 

The next thing was to choose a name, and they 
finally decided upon the native word Vailima,* mean- 
ing "five waters," in reference to a stream fed by 
four tributaries that ran through the place. 

Without more ado they plunged eagerly into the 
business of clearing the forest and building their house 
— a task for which Fanny Stevenson, by taste and 
early training, was supremely fitted. She wrote at 
once to her mother-in-law in Scotland, saying: "Come 

* Pronounced Vyieema. 
167 



168 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

when you like. Even if we make a temporary shelter 
you need not be so very uncomfortable. The only 
question is the food problem, and if in six months I 
cannot have a garden producing and fowls and pigs 
and cows it will be strange to me." In all this she 
took a high delight, for, like a true pioneer, she found 
more pleasure in the doing of a task than in the thing 
finished. When the house or garden or what-not 
was done, and there was nothing left but to admire, a 
great part of the interest in it was gone for her. At 
Vailima she had almost a virgin field for her garden- 
ing activities, and her "Dutch blood" rejoiced within 
her. In the old California days her husband, in his 
humorous way, had called her "the forty-niner," but 
now, as he watched her, flitting in her blue dress, like 
a witch, in all parts of the plantation, directing, ex- 
postulating, and working with her hands when words 
failed, he called her "my little blue bogie planter." 
Writing to Miss Taylor, he says: "111 or well, rain or 
shine, a little blue indefatigable figure is to be ob- 
served howking about certain patches of garden. She 
comes in heated and bemired up to the eyebrows, 
late for every meal. . . ." 

The place they had bought was not precisely in 
the "bush," as the unbroken forest is called in those 
lands, for it had once been partly under cultivation; 
but it needs only a short season of neglect for the 
devouring jungle to sweep over and obliterate all 
traces of the handiwork of man. To all intents they 
began anew to clear out a place for their house and 
garden, in the midst of the great silent forest, "where 
one might hear the babbling of a burn close by, and 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 169 

the birds, and the sea breaking on the coast three 
miles away and six hundred feet below." The days 
were "fine like heaven; such a blue of the sea, such 
green of the trees, and such crimson of the hibiscus 
flowers were never dreamed of; and the air as mild 
and gentle as a baby's breath — and yet not hot." 

"The scenery," writes Mrs. Stevenson to Miss 
Boodle, "is simply enchanting; here a cliff, there a 
dashing little river, yonder a waterfall, here a great 
gorge slashed through the hillside, and everywhere a 
vegetation that baffles description. Our only work- 
men are cannibals from other islands and so-called 
savages — though I have never yet met one man 
whom that word described accurately. I have with 
me [on the steamer Lubeck, on the way from Sydney 
to Samoa] a cageful of beautiful yellow fowls, a big 
black mother sow is to follow, and soon I mean to have 
some pretty Jersey cows and some gentle horses. I 
have packages of garden seeds to experiment with, 
and it is odd indeed if I am not able soon to provision 
a garrison. One of the first things I shall plunge into 
is an ice-house run by cascade power." 

At first they lived in a two-room cottage, designed 
to serve later as a gate lodge, where comfort was at a 
minimum. The road to Apia was scarcely more than 
a footpath, and it was diflicult to bring up supplies 
in any quantity. At times provisions ran low, and 
the story of the occasion when they were reduced to 
dining on a single avocado* pear was told so often, in 
print and otherwise, that during all the following 
time of plenty they had to keep explaining that they 

* Commonly called "alligator" pear. 



170 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

really had enough to eat. Of course the famine was 
more apparent than real, for there was enough food 
at the town only three miles away, and the occasional 
dearth in those first days was merely a matter of the 
inconvenience of bringing it up. 

It was in the hurricane season, too, and there were 
days when they sat in momentary fear lest their frail 
dwelling should be carried away by the fury of the 
storm or crushed beneath some falling giant of the 
forest. 

From the day of their arrival at Vailima, in Sep- 
tember, 1890, Mrs. Stevenson began to keep a diary 
— a record which has proved to be one of the most 
valuable sources of material in writing her biography, 
and which itself has a curious history. When, after 
her husband's death, she finally left Vailima, the diary 
was inadvertently left behind, eventually making its 
way to London and falling into the hands of an 
English lady. Miss Gladys Peacock, who, thinking it 
might be of some use to the family, sent it to Lloyd 
Osbourne, with a note saying that "of course she had 
not read it." It is to the courtesy of this English- 
woman that I am indebted for the extracts from the 
diary, of which I shall make free use. 

In their temporary lodge in the wilderness, where 
they were encamped while the big house was building, 
furniture and other comforts of civilization were de- 
cidedly lacking, but they had brought beds with them, 
and Mrs. Stevenson at once set the carpenter to put- 
ting them up. For help about the house and premises 
they had to depend on Paul Einfurer, the German 
pantryman from the Lubeck, who had come up and 



i 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 171 

asked for work. He was good-natured but clumsy, 
and spoke so little English that it was difficult to 
communicate with him. The natives employed in 
clearing and planting knew only Samoan, and Mrs. 
Stevenson often found it necessary to instruct them 
by doing the work with her own hands. Writing 
humorously of her troubles to Sir Sidney Colvin, her 
husband says: "Fanny was to have rested; blessed 
Paul began making a duck house; she let him be; the 
duck house fell down, and she had to set her hand to 
it. He was then to make a drinking place for the 
pigs; she let be again, and he made a stair by which 
the pigs will probably escape this evening, and she 
was near weeping. . . . Then she had to cook the 
dinner; then, of course, like a fool and a woman, must 
wait dinner for me and make a flurry of herself. Her 
day so far." Again he writes: "The guid wife had 
bread to bake, and she baked it in a pan, ! But 
between whiles she was down with me weeding sensi- 
tive* in the paddock. Our dinner — the lowest we 
have ever been — consisted of an avocado pear between 
Fanny and me, a ship's biscuit for the guid man, 
white bread for the missis, and red wine for the twa; 
no salt horse, even, in all Vailima !" 

On the last trip from Sydney Mrs. Stevenson had 
brought all sorts of seeds with her — tomatoes, beans, 
alfalfa, melons, and a dozen others — and she went 
about the place dropping them in wherever she 
thought they would grow. Some difficulties peculiar 
to the tropics had to be met and conquered. For in- 

* They had a terrible time with the sensitive plant, which had become 
a pest there and grew almost faster than they could weed it out. 



172 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

stance, rats ate out tlie inside of the melons as soon 
as they were ripe, and it became necessary to put out 
poison. A beginning had been made in the way of 
livestock, of which she says: "We have three pigs — 
one fine imported boar and two slab-sided sows. 
They dwell in a large circular enclosure, which, 
with its stone walls, looks like an ancient fortifica- 
tion." 

These same swine became the torment of their lives, 
for some of the devils said to haunt Vailima seemed 
to have entered into them, and no sty could be made 
strong enough to restrain them. 

In clearing away the dense growth on the site of 
their projected house they were careful to preserve 
the best of the native plants. "The trees that have 
been left standing in the clearing," says the diary, 
"are of immense size, really majestic, with creepers 
winding about their trunks and orchids growing in 
the forks of their branches. These great trees are 
alive with birds, which chatter at certain hours of 
the night and morning with rich, throaty voices. 
Though they do not exactly sing, the sound they 
make is very musical and pretty. Yesterday Ben 
[the man of all work] took his gun and went into the 
bush to shoot. He returned with some small birds 
like parrots, which were almost bursting with fat. I 
felt some compunction about eating birds that sug- 
gested cages and swings and stands, but as we 
had nothing else to eat was fain to cook them, 
and a very excellent dish they made. I have read 
somewhere that the dodo and a relative of his 
called the 'tooth-billed pigeon' are still to be found 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 173 

on this island. It would be delightful to possess a 
pet dodo."* 

Although their stay in the little lodge was to be 
but temporary, it was like her to set to work to make 
it a pleasant abode even for the short time that they 
were to be there. "What we most dislike about our 
house," she says, "is the chilly, death-like aspect of 
the colors in which it is painted — black and white 
and lead-color. So we unearthed from our boxes 
some pieces of tapa^ in rich shades of brown and 
nailed them on the walls, using pieces of another pat- 
tern for bordering, and at once the whole appearance 
of the room was changed. Over the door connecting 
the two rooms we fastened a large flat piece of pink 
coral, a present given me by Captain Reid when we 
were on the Equator. We have had the carpenter 
put up shelves in one corner of the room and on two 
sides of one of the windows. I also had him naii 
some boards together in the form of a couch, upon 
which I have laid a mattress covered by a shawl. On 
the table an old pink cloth is spread, and when we 
light the lamp and set the little Japanese burner to 
smoking buhach — for, alas, there are mosquitoes — 
we feel quite snug and homelike. 

"The pig house, a most unsightly thing, is finished, 
and a creeper or two will soon disguise its ugliness. 

* "The one surviving species of dodo, the manume'a, a bird about the 
size of a small moor-hen, exists in Samoa. It has only recovered its pres- 
ent feeble powers of flight since cats were introduced in the island. Its 
dark flesh is extremely delicious." — From Balfour's Life of Robert Louis 
Stevenson. 

t Tapa is a cloth made of vegetable fibre and stained in various strik- 
ing patterns. It is used by the natives for clothing, curtains, beds, and 
many other purposes. 



174 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

There seem to be a great number of mummy apples* 
springing up through the clearing, of which I am glad 
for the sake of the prospective cow. Paul and I have 
planted out a lot of kidney potatoes, which is an 
experiment only, as they are not supposed to grow in 
Samoa. We have sowed tomato seeds, also arti- 
chokes and eggplants, in boxes. A few days ago Mr. 
Caruthers sent us half a dozen very fine pineapples, 
and as fast as we eat them we plant the tops. 

"October 6. I have been too busy to write before. 
Much has been accomplished. A good lot of sweet 
corn is planted, besides peas, onions, lettuce, and rad- 
ishes. Lima beans are commg up, and some of the 
cantaloupes. Mr. Caruthers has brought a root of 
mint and some cuttings of granadilla,t which have 
been set out along the arbor. It seems absolutely 
impossible to get anything sent up to us from Apia. 
Lists and notes go flying, but, except from Krause 
the butcher, with no results. It seems an odd thing 
that there should not be a spade or a rake for sale 
in a town where there would be no difiSculty in find- 
ing the best quality of champagne, to say nothing of 
all the materials for mixed drinks. We have almost 
starved for want of provisions until yesterday, when 
Ben killed a couple of fowls, a large piece of meat 
came from town, Paul shot two pigeons, and Mr. 
Blacklock came with fresh tomatoes. Afterwards 
Ben came with palusami,{ and now to-day -comes a 
young native girl from Mrs. Blacklock with enormous 
bananas, long green beans, a dozen eggs, and a bunch 

* The papaw. t A tropical fruit. 

J A native dish of taro tops and cocoanut. 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 175 

of flowers, and Ben has come in with eight little par- 
rots. It seems either a feast or a famine with us. 

" October 7. Last night it rained heavily, which was 
good for my plants, but, as our kitchen is some six 
or eight yards from the house, cooking became a series 
of adventures. I had set a sponge for bread last 
night, and was most anxious to bake the dough early 
in the day. A black boy was sent to the carpenter 
for a moulding board, and, placing it on a chair on 
the back veranda, I knelt on the floor with a shawl 
over my head to keep the rain off and made up the 
loaves. In making the dough I was successful, but 
the attempt to bake it almost sent me into hysterics. 
With an umbrella over my head I ran to the kitchen, 
but found, to my dismay, that all the wood was 
soaked, and the wind drove the smoke back into the 
stove, which thereupon belched forth acrid clouds from 
every opening. Paul ran down to where the carpen- 
ter had been working, and returned with a boxful of 
chips which we dried on top of the stove, swallowing 
volumes of smoke as we did so. Then I called Ben 
and showed him how to nail up the half of a tin kero- 
sene can over the opening of the pipe to screen it 
from the wind. That helped a little, but the rain 
beat in on the stove, and, though we consumed im- 
mense quantities of chips, it still remained cold. 
Finally I made a barrier of boxes around the stove, 
and that brought a measure of success, so that in 
about a couple of hours I was able to half bake, half 
dry a fowl for luncheon. By that time the bread was 
done for, and I very nearly so. Paul and I held a 
council of war, and decided to send the boys down to 



176 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

the pavilion to live, while we took their room for a 
kitchen and dining-room, one end serving for the one 
and the other end for the other, somewhat after the 
fashion of Mr. and Mrs. Boffin's room in Our Mutual 
Friend. 

"There were two mango trees among the plants 
sent up by Mr. Caruthers, and I was surprised to see 
among them also a shrub that is the pest of Tahiti 
and will become so here if it is planted. In the after- 
noon, the rain being then only a high mist, Simile 
and I began to set out the things. While busy at 
this I saw three or four beautiful young men, followed 
by a troop of dogs, pass along our road towards the 
bush. I have seldom seen more graceful, elegant 
creatures than these fellows. They carried large 
knives and axes, wore hats of fresh green banana 
leaves, and also carried large banana leaves as um- 
brellas to keep off the rain. With a friendly tofa 
[farewell] on either side, they went their way. After 
we had planted all the roots and taken a little rest. 
Simile and I took a hoe and pickaxe and finished the 
afternoon sowing Indian corn. I asked Simile while 
we were planting which was the best season for such 
work, meaning the wet, dry, or intermediate time. 
'We Samoans,' he answered, 'always go by the moon. 
Unless we plant in the time of the big round moon 
we expect no fruit.* 

"I thought one of my yellow hens wanted to sit, 
and that it would be the proper thing to provide her 
with eggs. To identify the eggs from fresh ones I 
made a black pencil mark around each one. After 
all was finished I retired from the henhouse and 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 177 

peeped through the palings. Madam hen clucked up 
to the nest, as I had always seen hens do, but at the 
sight of the marked eggs she started back in a sort of 
surprise and alarm. 'What's the matter?' cried the 
two cocks, stretching wide legs as they hastened to 
the spot. They, too, started back, just as the hen 
had done, held a hurried consultation and finally ven- 
tured to touch the eggs with their beaks. By this 
time all the five yellow hens had gathered round the 
nest, and pretty soon all the others were craning their 
necks to gaze at the marvel. After the cocks had 
poked the eggs about a little with their beaks the hens 
went nearer and tried to peck off the black marks. 
All the time there was a great hubbub of anxious 
conversation. The next morning more than half the 
eggs had been destroyed, and to save those that were 
left I had to remove them." 

Exploring their new estate was one of their most 
exciting and at the same time laborious occupations, 
for most of the land was so densely overgrown that 
it was necessary to carry a bush knife with which to 
cut a path as they went, and, moreover, unexpected 
dangers lurked in the beautiful ferny depths. "Louis 
and I went up to see the banana patch," says the 
diary, "Louis carrying a knife to clear the road. For 
a little way we followed a fairly open path that had 
previously been cleared by Louis, but by and by it 
began to close up and become treacherously boggy 
underfoot. Several times we were ankle-deep in 
mud and water, and Louis had to slash down the tall 
vegetation that obstructed our way. Before long he 
cried out: 'Behold your banana patch!' And there 



178 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

it was, sure enough — a great number of sturdy, thick- 
set young plants, many with bunches of fruit hanging 
above the strange purple flower of the plant, choked 
with a rank undergrowth and set with the roots in 
sluggishly running water. Here and there the gigan- 
tic leaves of the great taro* spread out — a dark, shin- 
ing green. It was too much for Louis, who fell to 
clearing on the spot, while I went on to the end of 
the plantation. Once or twice I was nearly stuck 
in the bog, but managed to drag myself from the 
ooze by clinging to a strong plant. After a while 
Louis called out to me as though in answer, and I 
hurried back to him. When I came up he said he had 
mistaken the cry of a bird for my voice and supposed 
I had lost the path. I helped him a little while pull- 
ing up the smaller weeds, but was in mortal terror of 
touching a poisonous creeper whose acquaintance I 
had already made and whose marks I still bear. It 
went to my heart to dig up and destroy the most 
lovely specimens of ferns I have ever seen, but I did 
it bravely, though I determined to return some day 
and make a collection of them. Some of the more 
delicate climbing ferns were magnificent. Occasion- 
ally as I drew out a plant the air around me was 
filled with the perfume of its bruised leaves. It was 
entrancing work, though we were soaked with mud 
and water, but before very long my head began to 
swim, and I proposed to go back to the house and see 
about some sort of food. I just managed to get a 
meal prepared and then gave out utterly, for my beau- 
tiful banana swamp had given me a fever with a most 

* A tropical plant with an edible root. 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 179 

alarming promptitude. I could not sleep all night, 
but kept waking with a start, my heart and pulses 
bounding, and my head aching miserably. This 
morning Louis gave me a dose of quinine, which soon 
helped me. 

"The pigs had to be watered when we came back 
from the perfidious swamp, but how to manage it 
I could not see. Paul was ill. Simile was gone, and 
I feared it might be dangerous for Louis to lift pails 
of water. I walked round and round the stone wall 
of their fortification, but it seemed unclimbable and 
impenetrable. I might have got over myself, but 
could not manage the pailful, also. Finally I thought 
of a boy, the son of a neighbor, who had come to visit 
Paul, and persuaded him to undertake the task of 
watering the pigs. The next day I discovered that 
he had simply poured the water over the wall upon 
the ground, and my poor pigs had gone thirsty all 
night. I cannot think that is the sort of son to 
help a pioneer. 

"In the midst of all this Louis wished to go down 
to Apia. It took all six of the boys to catch the 
pony, and in the meantime Louis was having a des- 
perate struggle to find his clothes and dress. I was 
in a dazed state with fever and quinine and could not 
help him at all. At last he got away, in what sort of 
garb I tremble to think, and he was hardly out of 
sight before I discovered all tlie things he had been 
in search of — in their right places, naturally." 

Eternal vigilance was the price of any progress 
made in her gardening, for the moment her eyes were 
taken off the workmen they committed some pro- 



180 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

yoking blunder that often undid the work of weeks. 
"As all the men were off with the cart," she writes, 
*'I thought I might as well let Ben plant corn, which 
he assured me he understood perfectly, for had he 
not planted all the first lot which had failed through 
the depredations of the rats? At about three Simile 
and I went down to put in some pumpkin seeds among 
the corn, and, to my disgust, I saw why the first lot 
of corn had failed. Ben's idea of planting was to 
scrape a couple of inches off the ground, drop in a 
handful of corn, and then kick a few leaves over the 
grains. It is really wonderful that any at all should 
have germinated. 

"While we were working Sitioni* came up with 
some pineapple plants. He said the people were 
fighting in Tutuila, but he did not think it would 
come to war here. He showed me a large pistol fast- 
ened round his waist by a cartridge belt, and tried 
to shoot a flying bat with it, but failed. Simile told 
me that the vampire bat, or flying fox, as they call it 
here, is good to eat, but I do not think I could eat 
bat. My lady pig from Sydney is at Apia, but as 
she only cost thirty-seven shillings I feel doubts as to 
ler quality. Still, in Samoa a pig's a pig. 

"Next day. The pig is a very small, very common 
pig, but nevertheless I had the boys make a special 
sty for her. The old cock is really too bad. Every 
time an egg is laid he strikes his bill into it, and, 
throwing it on the ground, calls his harem to a can- 
nibal feast. Something, either the rats or a wild 
hen, has destroyed all our corn." 

* Sitioni was a chief, later known as Amatua, a name of higher rank. 
We shall hear of Amatua again at the very end of the story. 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 181 

Perhaps no other part of their life in Samoa was 
so full of happiness for them as these first days — just 
those two alone, for the presence of their child-like 
native helpers counted as naught — with all the sur- 
roundings yet in a primitive state and little to remind 
them of the sophisticated world from which they had 
been glad to escape. Both were natural-born children 
of the wild. In the brief tropical twilight they often 
walked together and talked of the beautiful future 
they thought they saw stretching out before them. 

"Last night," so runs the diary, "Louis and I 
walked up and down the path behind the house. The 
air was soft and warm, but not too warm, and filled 
with the most delicious fragrance. These perfumes 
of the tropic forest are wonderful. When I am pulling 
weeds it often happens that a puff of the sweetest 
scent blows back to me as I cast away a handful of 
wild plants. I believe I have discovered the ylang- 
ylang tree, about which there has been so much mys- 
tery. Simile tells me that one of the priests distils 
perfume from the same tree. It does not grow very 
large and has a delicate leaf of a tender shade of 
green, with the flowers, of a greenish white, in racemes. 
The natives often use these flowers to mix in their 
WTeaths." 

Every paradise has its drawbacks, and though 
ferocious wild beasts and poisonous snakes are absent 
from that fortunate island, yet there were many 
small creatures dwelling in the neighbouring jungle 
that sometimes made their presence known in dis- 
concerting ways. Of one of these she writes: "We 
were driven out of the house by a tree frog of sten- 
torian voice, which was hidden in a tree near the 



182 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

front veranda and made a noise like a saw being filed, 
only fifty times louder. It actually shook the drums 
of my ears. ... I had to stop just here to show 
Paul how to tie a knot that would not slip. The last 
time Mr. Caruthers was here he found his horse at 
the point of strangulation from a slip noose round its 
neck as Paul had tethered it out in the grass. . . . 
To return to the tree frog. When we settled our- 
selves at the table for the evening what was our hor- 
ror to hear a second tree frog piping up just over our 
heads in the eaves of the house. We poked at him 
for some time with sticks and brooms, and I had a 
guilty feeling that I had done him a mortal injury; 
but when, after we were in bed and half asleep, he 
started saw-filing again, I wished I had." 

The hurricane season now came on, and wild tropic 
storms, of a violence of which they had never before 
dreamed, beat on the little house in the clearing with 
terrifying fury. "We had a very heavy rainstorm,'* 
the diary records, "with thunder and lightning. At 
night the rain fell so noisily that we could not hear 
each other speak, and it seemed as though the house 
must be crushed in by the weight of water falling on 
it. In the middle of the night Louis arose, made a 
light, and fell to writing verses. I was troubled 
about the taller corn — lest it be broken down and 
spoiled. Yet all went well, for the verses turned out 
not badly and the corn stood as straight as I could 
have wished it to do. 

"The banana patch is pretty well cleared, but it is 
diflBcult to keep men at work there. 'Too many 
devils, me 'fraid,' explained Lafaele when he came 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 183 

back sooner than I had anticipated. There are devils 
everywhere in the bush, it is said; creatures that take 
on the semblance of man and kill those with whom 
they converse, but our banana patch seems to be 
exceptionally cursed with the presence of these 
demons." 

Indeed, to be alone in the jungle is a solemn thing, 
even for people of stronger mentality than the super- 
stitious natives. The vegetation is so dense that 
there are no shadows, and, the location of the sun 
being an unsolvable mystery, one becomes affected 
by a strange lost feeling. The loneliness, the silence, 
the impossibility of seeing far into the surrounding 
wall of foliage, all oppress the soul, and strange alarms 
attack the most hardy. Then at night, when there 
is no moon and the darkness is thick, a phosphorescent 
light, due to decaying wood, shines fearsomely all 
about on the ground, so that it seems, as Louis said, 
"like picking one's way over the mouth of hell." 
"We ourselves," writes Mrs. Stevenson, "have be- 
come infected with the native fear of the spirits. 
Louis has been cutting a path in the bush, and he 
confesses that the sight of anything like a human 
figure would send him flying like the wind with his 
heart in his mouth. One night the world seemed full 
of strange supernatural noises. When Louis whis- 
pered ' Listen ! What's that ? ' I felt as though cold 
water had been poured down my back, but it was 
only the hissing of a fire in the clearing. The same 
night we were waked by sounds of terror in the hen- 
house. Paul, Louis, and I ran out with one accord, 
but could see nothing. In the morning we found the 



184 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

body of a pullet with its heart torn out. Simile says 
that the murderer is a certain small and beautiful 
bird, but we were quite in the mood to believe it an 

Notwithstanding the slow progress caused by in- 
efficient help and the difficulty of getting materials 
up the steep road to their plantation, they could see 
their home gradually growing around them. Mr. 
Stevenson's health was better than it had been since 
their marriage, and a deep content settled gently upon 
their long-harassed spirits. Something of this is re- 
flected in an entry made in her diary on a certain 
beautiful, still evening: "It is now half-past eight 
and very dark, for the moon is not yet up and the 
sky is overcast. The air is fresh and sweetly damp 
and redolent of many scented leaves and flowers. I 
can hear the sea on Apia beach; the sound of it is 
regular, like hoarse breathing, or even more like the 
rhythmic purring of a gigantic cat. Crickets and 
tree frogs and innumerable other insects and small 
beasts are chirping and pecking with various noises 
that mingle harmoniously. Occasionally a bird calls 
with a startling cry — perhaps the very bird that mur- 
dered my poor pullet. When I stood in the doorway 
and looked in, the room seemed to be glowing with 
color, glowing and melting, and yet there is nothing 
to go upon but the tapa on the walls, the coral, the 
pink and maroon window curtains of the coarsest cot- 
ton print, a ragged old ink-spotted table-cover, a 
few print-covered pillows, and the pandanus mats on 
the floor. Louis's books, with their bindings of blue 
and green, to say nothing of gold lettering, help 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 185 

greatly on the six shelves, and the two hava bowls 
that I have worked as hard to color as a young man 
with his first meerschaum have taken on a fine opal- 
escent coating." This, of course, was when they 
were living in the temporary quarters while the main 
house was being built. 

The entry of November 15 gives us an amusing 
tale of the horses: "The cart horses, a couple of large, 
mild-eyed, gentle, dappled grays, have arrived from 
Auckland. It was pleasant to see them fall upon the 
grass after their tedious sea voyage. Just as we 
were thinking about going to bed, an alarming noise 
was heard from the direction of the stable. It had 
been raining hard all day and was still drizzling. 
The weeds on the way to the stable were up to my 
waist and dripping with water. The prospect was 
not inviting, but we nobly marched out with the 
lantern and an umbrella. As we entered the enclo- 
sure where the stable stands, or rather stood, we be- 
came aware of two large white objects showing indis- 
tinctly through the darkness. A little nearer and our 
two horses were looking us in the face. They had 
eaten the sides and ends of their house quite away. 
They must have thought it odd to be housed in an 
edible stable.* When we entered they received us 
with every sign of welcome, but we were dismayed to 
find them tangled with each other and the wreck of 
the partition. Louis crawled in under the big hairy 
feet, and, after much labor, got one wet knot un- 
tangled, the horses meanwhile smelling and nosing 

* The stable was probably made of pandanus leaves, like the native 
houses. 



186 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

about the top of his head. He said he expected at 
every moment to have it bitten off, for, he argued, 
if the horses found a stable edible, in these outlandish 
parts, they might easily conceive the idea of sampling 
the hostler. ... I am interrupted at this moment 
by Simile at the door to ask a question. I wish I 
could take a photograph as he stands at the door, 
with the steady eyes of a capable man of affairs, but 
the dress of a houri; about his loins he has twisted a 
piece of white cotton; a broad garland of drooping 
ferns passes over his forehead, crosses at the back 
of his head, and coming forward round his neck is 
fastened in a knot of greenery on his breast. He is 
rather a plain young man, but he looks really lovely 
just now, and the incongruous expression of his eyes 
heightens the effect. 

"Yesterday we had a terrific storm, quite alarming 
to people living in such a vulnerable abode. Even 
when the weather is fair the house shakes as though 
it would fall if any one comes upstairs rapidly, and 
the slight iron roof is entirely open at the eaves to 
catch any wind that blows. We could not keep a 
lamp burning, and the lantern kept for such emer- 
gencies having been broken by Paul, we were in 
semi-darkness. Late in the afternoon a cloud envel- 
oped us so that we could see no farther than in a 
London fog. From that time the gale increased, 
lashing the branches of the trees together, and some- 
times twisting their trunks and throwing them to 
the ground. We could see the rain through the 
windows driving in layers, one sheet above another. 
Occasionally there was an ominous thrashing on the 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 187 

iron roof as though the great hardwood tree alongside 
of the house meant to do us an injury. Water poured 
in under our ill-fitting doors, the matches were too 
damp to light, and the general discomfort and sloppi- 
ness gave one quite the feeling of being at sea. I 
wished we might reef in some of our green tree sails, 
which reminded me of Ah Fu's terror of the land and 
longing to be at sea in bad weather. Simile and his 
boys are building or, rather, excavating, a hurricane 
refuge. I went to see it yesterday and found it a 
big mudhole with immense boulders heaving up from 
the bottom. I advised the instant digging of a ditch 
unless they wished to use it for a bathing pool. The 
hole must be pretty well filled up by to-day, for last 
night the rain came down in awful torrents. For 
the last two days the evening light has been very 
strange and disquieting — a whitish glare in the sky, 
the trees and bare ground a burnt-sienna red, and 
the vegetation a strong crude green with a delicate 
white bloom. The rain is still pouring and the whole 
world is damp and uncomfortable." 

The hurricanes were varied now and then by earth- 
quakes, of which they felt two distinct shocks on 
January 13. To add to these discomforts, tiny visi- 
tors from the jungle gave them many pin-pricks of 
annoyance. "It is strange," says the diary, "that 
each night has its separate plague of insects. The 
mosquitoes, of course, are always with us, and Simile's 
hurricane cellar has become a fine breeding place for 
them. But on one night moths are our torment, 
while perhaps the very next night it will be myriads 
of small black beetles. At another time the creatures 



188 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

may be of a large cockshafer sort, or a dreadful 
square-tailed thing that is especially ominous. To- 
night I have had for the first time two sets of tor- 
mentors, the first being small burnished beetles of 
the most lovely colors imaginable. A pinkish-bronze 
fellow lies on my paper as I write; he kept standing 
on his head until he died in a fit. It seems a color 
night, for I now have small silver moths, all of a size 
but with different beautiful markings. There are 
also large salmon-colored moths that Louis cannot 
bear the sight of because they are marked like a skele- 
ton. Perhaps they are a variety of the death's head 
moth. They are almost as large as a humming-bird, 
and have beautiful eyes that glow in the dark like 
fire." 

Enough order had now come out of the first chaos 
to encourage them to write for the elder Mrs. Steven- 
son. Her son went to Sydney to meet her, but was 
there taken very ill and returned in that condition 
with his mother as nurse. During his absence his 
wife remained in sole charge, and, judging by the 
entries in her diary, she had her hands full every 
moment of the time. Everybody — white, brown, or 
black — went to her with apparently full confidence 
that she was able to cure any wound or disease. 
"One day," she says, "I heard a loud weeping as of 
some one in great pain; a man had just had two 
fingers dreadfully crushed. I really didn't know what 
to do except to go to a doctor, but as the wound was 
bleeding a good deal I mixed up some crystals of iron 
in water and washed his hand in that. To my sur- 
prise his cries instantly ceased, and he declares he 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 189 

has had no pain since. It was only for the effect on 
his mind that I gave the iron, which so far as I know 
is a styptic only; I always think it best to give some- 
thing — perhaps on the principle of the doctors when 
they give bread pills. I have cured both Paul and 
the carpenter of violent lumbago, but there I had a 
little knowledge to go upon. To-day a man came 
to us with the sole of his foot very much inflamed 
from having run a nail into it the day before yester- 
day. I bound a bit of fat bacon on the foot — an old 
Negro remedy which was the only one I could think 
of. It is even more difficult when they bring me 
their domestic troubles to settle, in which they seem 
to think I am as great an expert as in curing their 
physical ills." 

In the effort to keep things from being lost or im- 
properly used she fell into the habit of storing them 
in her bedroom, so that in time it became a veritable 
junk-shop. "Among my dresses," she writes, "hang 
bridle straps and horse robes. On the camphor-wood 
trunk which serves as my dressing-table, beside my 
comb and toothbrush, a collection of tools — chisels, 
pincers, and the like — is spread out. Leather straps 
and parts of harness hang from the walls, as well as 
a long carved spear, a pistol, strings of teeth — of fish, 
beasts, and human beings — necklaces of shells, and 
several hats. Fine mats and iapas are piled up in 
heaps. My little cot bed seems to have got into its 
place by mistake. Besides the above mentioned 
articles there are an easel and two cameras stowed 
in one corner. A strange lady's chamber indeed." 

On March 28 there was a stiff blow, during which 



190 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

the little cottage rocked and groaned in the most 
alarming way, and with one gust of wind it swung over 
so far that its terrified occupants thought it was gone. 
All, including Mrs. Stevenson, then took refuge in 
the stable, which was rather more solidly constructed. 
The hurricane, the most violent they had yet experi- 
enced, lasted several days, during which they re- 
mained in the stable, sleeping in the stalls in wet 
beds, having to sweep out the water without ceasing 
and suffering severely from clouds of mosquitoes. 
When at last the storm abated and they could return 
to the house, they found everything wet and mil- 
dewed and the cottage leaning with a decided cant 
to one side. Worst of all, one of the horses had 
become entangled in the barbed-wire fence that had 
been blown down by the wind, and was dreadfully 
injured. Thus they discovered that life in the 
tropics has its drawbacks as well as its delights. 

These were the primitive conditions that greeted 
the elder Mrs. Stevenson on her arrival, and the poor 
lady's surprise and consternation were increased by 
the appearance of the good-hearted Paul while wait- 
ing on table — a plump little German with a bald head, 
clothed in a flannel shirt open at the neck, a pair of 
ragged trousers, particularly dilapidated in the seat 
and held up by a leather strap round the waist, a 
sheath-knife stuck in the belt, barefoot, and most 
likely offering the information that "the meat is 
tough, by God." Having no pioneer ancestry to 
sustain her she was unable to endure the discomforts 
of the place and only remained over the stay of the 
Luheck, after which she fled to Sydney, there to await 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 191 

the time when civilization should have been estab- 
lished on the plantation. 

By the end of April the new house was ready for 
them to move in, and by July the whole family, in- 
cluding the Strongs,* were established on the place. 

The conditions of their lives were now vastly more 
comfortable. Mrs. Stevenson no longer had to share 
the evening lamp with death's-head moths and piping 
tree-frogs, for gauze doors and windows had been 
put in to keep out the flying things. Nor did she 
have to take refuge in the stable when the hurricane 
season came around, for the new house was staunchly 
built and stout storm-shutters stood against the fury 
of the wind and rain. 

Of Vailima in its finished aspect I need not speak 
in detail, since it has been fully and elaborately 
described by Graham Balfour in his Life of Robert 
Louis Stevenson. With its band of "house boys" and 
"out boys" — a fine-looking lot of fellows of whom 
their master was very proud — the household grew to 
be almost like that of a feudal chief, or Scotch laird 
of the old days, and Mrs. Stevenson took her place 
as its mistress as though "to the manner born." 
The place became the centre of social life in the 
island and was the scene of frequent balls and parties, 
dinners with twenty-five or thirty guests, Christmas 
parties with the guests staying for three days, and 
tennis nearly every day with officers from the men- 
of-war in the harbour and ladies from the mission. 
Over these entertainments Mrs. Stevenson presided — 
a gracious and beautiful hostess. Once when her 

* Mrs. Stevenson's daughter, Isobel Strong, with her husband and son. 



192 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

grandson, Austin Strong, came home for a holiday 
from school, she gave a ball in his honour. There were 
torches all along the road to light the way up, boys 
in uniform to receive and take care of the guests and 
their horses, and a band to play for dancing. For 
weeks beforehand the dressmakers of Apia had to 
work overtime. But it is not to be supposed that 
this comfortable state was brought about without 
great efforts on the part of the whole family. Mrs. 
Strong took over the housekeeping, management of 
supplies and training of servants, leaving her mother 
free to devote her energies to the outdoor work she 
loved best. Writing to Miss Jane Balfour, Mrs. Ste- 
venson says: "Never were people so full of affairs. 
We have to start a plantation in the solid bush, man- 
age all our complicated business, receive furniture 
and guests — and all the while trying madly to get 
the house in order and feed our family. We must 
have horses to ride or we can go nowhere. The land 
must be cleared and grass to feed horses and cows 
must be planted. Men have to be taught, also, how 
to take care of the animals and must be watched 
every moment. I am glad to say that the gossip 
among the natives is that I have eyes all around my 
head and am in fifty places at once, and that I am 
a person to be feared and obeyed." 

The fertile soil and kindly climate of the island 
encouraged her to experiment, not only with the 
plants native to the place, but also with exotics 
brought from other lands. In importing these for- 
eign plants she exercised the greatest care not to 
introduce any pest, for she knew that when the Ian- 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 193 

tana was taken to Hawaii and the sweetbrier to New 
Zealand these foreigners showed such a destructive 
fondness for their adopted homes that they came 
near choking out everything else. Before introducing 
any plant she consulted the heads of the botanical 
gardens at Kew and Colombo and the grass expert at 
Washington, D. C. She even had the soil that came 
around her plants burned, for fear it might bring in 
insects or disease. The lawn was an accomplishment 
in itself, for after she had had the soil sifted to a 
depth of eighteen inches to clear it of roots and 
stones, she levelled it herself by the simple means 
of a spirit-level and a string. 

It is not to be supposed that all these things grew 
without immense difficulty. As an instance, after she 
had carefully instructed Lafaele, her gardener, how 
to plant a patch of vanilla, she was disgusted to find 
that he had planted them all upside down. After 
giving him a thorough scolding, she dismissed him 
and replanted them all herself, right side up. What 
were her feelings to find the next day that Lafaele, 
chagrined by his stupidity, had risen in the night and 
planted them all upside down again ! This Lafaele 
was a huge mutton-headed Hercules, an out-islander, 
who spoke no English, and as Mrs. Stevenson never 
learned Samoan, the two had perforce to invent a 
sort of pidgin dialect of their own, in which they 
jabbered away successfully but which no one else 
could understand. She later found an intelligent 
Samoan named Leuelu who understood her pidgin 
Samoan perfectly and learned to carry out all her 
orders. He was small and not strong, but with the 



194 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

help of the dull but faithful Lafaele he soon had a 
wonderful garden. 

One week her special task was to superintend the 
boys in putting a culvert into the new road to carry 
off the rain in the wet season. She also devised and 
carried out a scheme of water-works for the place 
which was a great boon and comfort to all the family, 
and enabled them to sprinkle their lawn in civilized 
fashion. A large cemented reservoir was built at a 
spring on the mountain and the water carried down 
from it in pipes and distributed through the house 
and grounds. 

One of her few failures was trying to make beer out 
of bananas. The stuff, after being bottled, blew up 
with a great noise and a dissemination of the aston- 
ishingly offensive odour of the fermented fruit that 
seemed to spread for acres about. On the other hand, 
her attempt at making perfume from the moso'oi 
flower (said to be the real ylang-ylang) was a distinct 
success. She had to get permission from the govern- 
ment to import the small still she set up in a corner 
of the garden. The flowers were boiled and distilled, 
and as the oil rose to the top of the water it was 
removed with a medicine-dropper. It was a charm- 
ing sight to see her working in her little distillery, 
while processions of pretty Samoan girls came with 
their huge baskets of flowers and scattered them in 
piles around her. Long afterwards when she was in 
New York she took a sample of the perfume to Col- 
gates, who pronounced it the best they had ever seen. 

In the midst of all these labours there were a thou- 
sand other troubles to be met and conquered — ser- 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 195 

vants' quarrels in the kitchen, for Samoans are not 
a whit different in such respects from domestics all 
the world over, jealousy between the house boys and 
the out boys, constant alarms about devils and be- 
witchments, and, above all, sickness of all sorts to 
be sympathized with and cured. For help in all 
these derangements every one went to the mistress, 
for all had a simple faith in her ability to relieve 
them of all their sorrows. At one time she and her 
daughter nursed twenty-two men through the measles 
— a verj^ serious disease among the islanders. At an- 
other time the large hall at Vailima was entirely filled 
with the beds of influenza patients, Mr. Stevenson 
being isolated up-stairs. In the performance of^ the 
plantation work accidents sometimes happened to the 
men, and she was often called upon to bind up dread- 
ful wounds that would have made many women faint. 
From her earliest youth she had always been the kind 
of person to whom every one instinctively turns in an 
emergency. When Mr. Stevenson was ill she under- 
stood what he wanted by the merest gesture, and was 
always calm, reassuring, and self-reliant, never break- 
ing down until after the crisis was past. She was a 
most delightful nurse otherwise, too, for when her 
children were sick in bed she entertained them with 
cheerful stories to divert their minds, and when they 
were convalescent made tempting dishes for them to 
eat. One of my own dear memories is of a time 
when, as a little child, I lay dangerously and pain- 
fully ill, unable to move even a hand, and she light- 
ened mj^ sufferings immeasurably b}^ buying a Noah's 
ark and arranging the animals on a little table by my 



196 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

bedside where I could look at them. When her hus- 
band was having one of his speechless illnesses at 
Vailima she allowed only one at a time to go in to 
him, under orders to be entertaining and to recount 
amusing little adventi.res of the household. She her- 
self was an adept at this, though when she came out 
she left her smile at the bedroom door. For his 
amusement she would sit by his bedside and play her 
famous game of solitaire, learned so long ago from 
Prince Kropotkin, the Russian revolutionist. He 
would make signs when she went wrong and point at 
cards for her to take up. Sometimes she read trashy 
novels to him, for they both liked such reading when 
it was bad enough to be funny. 

With the childlike Samoans she found sympathy to 
be as necessary as medical treatment for their ails. 
An interesting example of this was the case of Eliga, 
who was afflicted with an unsightly tumour on his 
back. This, in a land where any sort of deformity 
is looked upon with horror, caused the unfortunate 
man great unhappiness, besides depriving him of his 
titles and estates. His kind master and mistress 
had him examined by the surgeon of an English man- 
of-war that was in the harbour, and the opinion was 
given that an operation was quite feasible. Poor 
Eliga, however, was stricken with terror at the 
thought and carefully explained that there were 
strings in the wen that were tied about his heart, and 
if they were severed he would die. Besides, he said, 
as his skin was different from the white man's, his 
insides were probably different also. In the end, 
more to please them than through any faith in it, he 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 197 

consented to the operation, although so certain was 
he of a fatal ending that he had his house swept and 
garnished, ready for the funeral. To comfort and 
cheer him through the ordeal, both Mr. and Mrs. 
Stevenson went to his house and remained with him 
until all was done. The result was most happy, and 
the grateful man, now proudly holding up his head 
among his fellows, composed in honour of the event 
"TheSongof the Wen": 

"0 Tusitala, when you first came here I was ugly 
and poor and deformed. I was jeered at and scorned 
by the unthinking. I ate grass; a bunch of leaves 
was my sole garment, and I had nothing to hide my 
ugliness. But now, O Tusitala, now I am beautiful; 
my body is sound and handsome; I bear a great 
name; I am rich and powerful and unashamed, and I 
owe it all to you, Tusitala. I have come to tell your 
highness that I will not forget. Tusitala, I will work 
for you all my life, and my family shall work for your 
family, and there shall be no question of wage be- 
tween us, only loving-kindness. My life is yours, 
and I will be your servant till I die."* 

It was in Samoa that Mrs. Stevenson acquired the 
name of Tamaitai,t by which she was known thence- 
forth to her family and intimate friends until the 
day of her death. English words do not come easily 
from the tongues of the natives, and so they obviate 
the difficulty by bestowing names of their own upon 
strangers who come to dwell among them. It was 

* The complete story of Eliga, most agreeably told, may be found in 
Vailima Memories, by Lloyd Osbourne and Isobel Strong, 
t Pronounced Tahmyty, with the accent on the "my." 



198 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

as Tusitala, the writer of tales, that Louis was best 
known, his wife was called Aolele,* flying cloud, and 
her daughter, because of her kindness in giving rib- 
bons and other little trinkets to the girls, was named 
Teuila, the decorator. Tamaitai is a general title, 
meaning "Madam," and is used in reference to the 
lady of the house. Mr. Stevenson himself started 
the custom by calling his wife Tamaitai, and it was 
finally adopted by everybody and grew to be her 
name — the complete title being Tamaitai Aolele 
(Madam Aolele) . These Samoan names were adopted 
partly as a convenience, to escape the embarrassment 
that sometimes arose from the habit among the natives 
of calling the different members of the family by their 
first names. It was felt to be rather undignified, for 
instance, that the mistress of the house should be 
called "Fanny" by her servants. 

Mrs. Stevenson, as I have said before, was a famous 
cook, and had learned how to make at least some of 
the characteristic dishes of each of the many coun- 
tries where she had sojourned awhile in her long 
wanderings. From her mother she had inherited 
many an old Dutch receipt — peppery pot, noodle 
soup, etc.; in France she acquired the secret of pre- 
paring a bouillabaise,]' sole a la marguery, and many 
others; from Abdul, an East Indian cook she brought 
from Fiji, she learned how to make a wonderful mut- 
ton curry which contained more ingredients than 
perhaps any other dish on earth; in the South Seas 

* Translated in an old missionary note-book as "beautiful as a flying 
cloud." 

t A Provengal fish-chowder. 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 199 

she picked up the art of making raw-fish salad; and 
now at Vailima she lost no time in adding Samoan 
receipts to her list. She soon knew how to prepare 
to perfection a pig roasted underground and eaten 
with Miti sauce,* besides dozens of other dishes, in- 
cluding ava for drinking. 

It was not the least of her duties to play the hostess 
to a remarkable assortment of guests — the Chief Jus- 
tice, officers from the men-of-war that frequently 
came into the harbour, Protestant, Catholic, and Mor- 
mon missionaries, all kinds of visitors to the islands, 
including an English duchess, and native kings and 
chiefs. Once a high chief, one of the highest, bearing 
the somewhat lengthy name of Tuimalealiifono, came 
on a visit to Vailima. He was quite unacquainted 
with white ways of living, and, when shown to his 
bedroom, looked askance at the neat, comfortable 
bed that had been prepared for him. In the morning 
it was found that he had scorned the bed, and, retir- 
ing to the piazza, had rolled himself up in his mat 
and lain down to pleasant dreams. At table, al- 
though he had never before seen knives and forks, he 
picked up their use instantly by quietly observing 
the manners of the others. 

A curious episode, which might have turned out 
to be dangerous, happened during the war troubles, 
when King Malietoa went up to Vailima secretly to 
have a talk with Tusitala. After the talk Louis 
offered him a present, asking what he preferred. 
Malietoa said he would like a revolver, and Louis 

* Miti sauce is made of grated kukui nuts mixed with lime-juice and 
sea- water. 



200 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

took one from the safe and handed it to his wife, 
who happened to be sitting next the king. She 
emptied the chambers, as she thought, and then, not 
noticing that the thing was pointing straight at the 
king's heart, she clicked it five times. By a lucky 
chance, before clicking it the sixth time she looked 
in, and behold, there was the last cartridge ! If she 
had given the last click she certainly would have 
killed the king, and one can imagine the complica- 
tions that would have resulted in those uneasy times. 
Of course the episode, with all the dramatic possibili- 
ties attached to it, appealed to the romantic imagina- 
tions of the two Stevensons, and, after the king's de- 
parture, they spent the evening in making up a 
harrowing tale about what would have happened if 
she had killed him. 

Among the notable visitors to Vailima was the 
Italian artist Fieri Nerli, who came to paint Mr. 
Stevenson's portrait — the one that now hangs in 
Swanson Cottage in Scotland. This portrait pleased 
his wife as little as did the Sargent picture, and, in a 
letter to Lord Guthrie of Edinburgh, she makes what 
Lord Guthrie calls "an acute criticism of this over- 
dramatized likeness." She says : " It would have been 
all right if Nerli had only been content to paint just 
Louis, and had not insisted on representing instead 
the author of Dr. JeJcyll and Mr. Hyde.^' 

It was not all work at Vailima by any means. 
"Socially," she writes, "Sam.oa was not dull. There 
were many entertainments given by diplomats and 
officials in Apia. Besides native feasts there were 
afternoon teas, evening receptions, dinner parties. 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 201 

private and public balls, paper chases on horseback, 
polo, tennis parties, and picnics. Sometimes a party 
of flower-wreathed natives might come dancing over 
the lawn at Vailima, or a band of sailors from a man- 
of-war would be seen gathered in an embarrassed 
knot at the front gate." She herself cared little for 
these entertainments, and usually busied herself in 
helping others with the preparations for them. Her 
mother-in-law writes: "A fancy dress ball has been 
held in honor of the birthday of the Prince of Wales. 
Fanny designed a costume for Mrs. Gurr (a pretty 
Samoan girl) as Zenobia, Empress of the East. She 
wore a Greek dress, made in part of cotton stuff with 
a gold pattern stamped on it; over this a crimson 
chuddah was correctly draped, wuth a gold belt, many 
beads, and an elaborate gold crown." 

From the busy round of her many-sided activities 
she took time now and then to do a little writing, 
though in truth she had little liking for it nor any 
high regard for her own literary style, in which she 
complained of a certain "dry nippedness" that she 
detested but could not get rid of. It was only when 
she wanted some extra money for her water-works 
at Vailima that she "took her pen in hand" and 
wrote a story for Scribners. 

All this sounds hurried and breathless, but in 
reality these activities were spread out over far more 
time than appears in the telling of them, and there 
were peaceful intervals of rest and happiness in seeing 
Louis well and able for the first time to bear his share 
in hospitality. 

Always, high above every other purpose, was her 



202 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON j 

unfailing devotion to her husband and his work, and ', 

no other task ever interfered with her careful watch \ 

over his health and her keen interest in his writing. * 

He appreciated her aid from the bottom of his heart, ■ 
and in the dedication to his last unfinished novel, 
Weir of Hermiston, he endeavours to express in some 

degree his profound sense of obligation: • 

"I saw the rain falling and the rainbow drawn 
On Lammermuir. Hearkening, I heard again 
In my precipitous city beaten bells 

Winnow the keen sea wind. And here afar, f 

Intent on my own race and place I wrote. ' 

Take thou the writing; thine it is. For who 
Burnished the sword, blew on the drowsy coal. 
Held still the target higher; chary of praise 
And prodigal of counsel — who but thou ? 
So now in the end; if this the least be good. 
If any deed be done, if any fire 
Burn in the imperfect page, the praise be thine." 

This was to the critic; to the wife he wrote: 

"Trusty, dusky, vivid, true, 
"With eyes of gold and bramble-dew, 
Steel true and blade straight 
The great Artificer made my mate. 

Honor, anger, valor, fire, 

A love that life could never tire. 

Death quench, or evil stir, 

The mighty Master gave to her. 

Teacher, tender comrade, wife, 
A fellow-farer true through life. 
Heart whole and soul free, 
The August Father gave to me." 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 203 

As the years passed, their comradeship grew closer, 
and, indeed, tlielr relationship can perhaps be ex- 
pressed in no better way than to call them "com- 
rades," with all that the word implies. In writing to 
her he usually called her "My dear fellow," and in 
speaking often addressed her in the same way. His 
attachment and admiration for her steadily increased 
in proportion to his longer acquaintance with her. 
Once at Vailima they were all playing a game called 
"Truth," in which each person writes a list of the 
qualities — courage, humour, beauty, etc. — supposed 
to be possessed by the others, with the corresponding 
ratio in numbers, ten being the maximum. Louis 
put his wife down as ten for beauty. She argued 
with him that he must be perfectly honest and not 
complimentary; he looked at her in amazement and 
said: "I am honest; I think you are the most beautiful 
woman in the world." 

Once when her birthday, the 10th of March, came 
around, she found on waking these verses pinned to 
the netting of her bed: 



"To THE Stormy Petrel 

"Ever perilous 
And precious, like an ember from the fire 
Or gem from a volcano, we to-day 
When drums of war reverberate in the land 
And every face is for the battle blacked — 
No less the sky, that over sodden woods 
Menaces now in the disconsolate calm 
The hurly-burly of the hurricane — 
Do now most fitly celebrate your day. 



204 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

Yet amid turmoil, keep for me, m} dear. 
The kind domestic fagot. Let the hearth 
Shine ever as (I praise my honest gods) 
In peace and tempest it has ever shone." 

She said these verses were the best of all her birth- 
day presents. He called her the "stormy petrel" in 
reference to her birth in the wild month of March, 
and because she was such a fiery little person. When 
she took sides in an argument he would say, in mild 
irony: "The shouts of the women in the opposite 
camp were heard demanding the heads of the pris- 
oners." 

All through the daily entries In her diary, mingled 
with the incidents of the household, runs the talk of 
impending war: 

"War news continues exciting, and there are threats 
of a massacre of all the whites. Although nothing of 
the kind is really anticipated, I think it would be 
better to look up our cartridges. Lafaele has blacked 
his face in the fashion of a warrior, saying he must be 
prepared to protect the place. He has a very sore 
toe, which he thinks is bewitched. He sent for the 
Samoan doctor, a grave middle-aged man, who an- 
nounced that a devil, instigated by some enemy, has 
entered the toe and is now on the point of travelling 
up the leg, and unless it is checked in time will soon 
have possession of Lafaele's entire body. 

"March 22. This entry is written in Suva, Fiji. 
For a long time I had not been well, and so I was 
sent off in the steamer to this place, though I went 
with a heavy heart, for I thought Louis did not look 
well. I have been to the botanical gardens, which 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 205 

are in charge of a pleasant young man from Kew, and 
have secured four boxes of plants for Vailima. The 
young man told me, as a trade secret, that if cauli- 
flowers get an occasional watering of sea water they 
will head up in any climate. I have also secured an 
East Indian cook named Abdul. 

"September 23. At home again. I find that Lloyd 
and the Strongs have been teaching a native boy 
named Talolo to cook, with the best results, so my 
fine Indian cook is a fifth wheel. However, Mr. 
Haggard has agreed to take him — though he seems 
very reluctant to leave Vailima. 

"October 28. Paul left us some time ago to be 
overseer on a German plantation. Before he left, in 
his blundering desire to do all he could for me, he 
transplanted a lot of my plants, all wrong, and in fact 
did all the damage he well could in so short a time. 
I felt sorry to see the last of him, for with all his mis- 
takes his heart was in the right place. Much more 
distressing is it that our dear Simile is gone. He 
wept very much in leaving, saying that 'his poor 
old family' needed him. I was told afterwards that 
he had in reality eloped with a young lady, which 
may be the truth of the matter. Talolo, our new 
cook, amuses me very much. He was greatly shocked 
at hearing of the scalping of victims by American In- 
dians, but thought the taking of heads in the Samoan 
fashion perfectly right, as the victim was then dead 
and felt nothing. 

"November 2. Talolo's mother, a very respectable 
woman indeed, came to see us, bringing with her a 
relative who is almost blind from cataract. They 



206 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

were shown over the house and could be heard at 
every moment crying out in Samoan 'How extremely 
beautiful ! ' Even when shown into the cellar, where 
it was quite dark, they were heard to make the same 
remark. . . . Last Saturday Lloyd marshalled up 
all the men before they left for their Sunday at home 
and administered to each a blue pill. One fellow was 
caught liiding his in his cheek and was made to swal- 
low it amid shouts of laughter. I feared they would 
never come back, but all returned on Monday morn- 
ing declaring they were much improved in health. 

"We are all blazing with cacao-planting zeal, and 
we already have over six hundred plants set out. 
The method of planting them is very laborious, for 
the seeds must first be set in baskets made of plaited 
cocoanut leaves, and when the sprouts come up they 
are put in the earth, basket and all; in this way the 
roots are not disturbed and in time the basket decays 
in the damp soil and drops off. The whole family 
has been infected with the planting fever, and even 
Mrs. Stevenson works away at it most gallantly. 
To-day is Sunday, but we must all, the family and 
the house boys, plant the seeds that are left. 

"November 30. Simile has come back in a sad con- 
dition from a wound with a spear or club in the back 
of his head, and much distressed over the state of 
his 'poor old family.' . . . We have now set out 
1,200 cacao plants. All yesterday Joe* and I were 
superintending the building of a bridge over the 
river. We had two trees cut down for the. purpose; 
one of them was of the most lovely pinkish wood. 

* Her son-in law, Mr. Strong. 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 207 

with salmon pink bark, and emitted a perfume like a 
mixture of sassafras and wintergreen. . . . Last 
night we were somewhat alarmed by earthquake 
shocks and rifle shots. Yesterday three of the chairs 
made by the carpenter out of our own wood, mahog- 
any, and designed from an antique model, came up. 
They are very satisfactory — a beautiful shape and 
comfortable to sit in." 

So the weeks rolled swiftly by, filled with an infini- 
tude of duties and much happiness, until the bright 
tropic sun broke on Christmas morning, 1893. The 
day was always celebrated at Vailima with much 
ceremony, and a gigantic tree, covered with carefully 
chosen presents for everybody, from the head of the 
family down to the humblest Samoan retainer, was 
set up in the large hall. Months before Mr. Steven- 
son had sent to the army and navy stores in London 
and had a large boxful of presents for the tree sent 
out. The diary gives us some account of this, the 
last Christmas spent on earth by Robert Louis Ste- 
venson : 

"Our washerwomen," so it runs, "came with pres- 
ents — iapa and fans, and Simile brought baskets and 
tajpa. Our people were wild with delight over their 
presents. Christmas we spent with friends in Apia, 
where we had a most delightful evening. Each gave 
some performance to add to the gaiety. Louis and 
Lloyd played, very badly indeed, on their pipes. 
Teuila recited one of Louis's poems, and Austin 
poured out with much dramatic fire Lochinvar. 
There was some very pretty Samoan dancing by 
Mrs. Gurr and Mrs. Willis, who gave a sitting dance 



208 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

and one with clubs. The next day we rode home, 
dashing at full speed through mud and water, and 
reached there drenched to the skin by a sudden 
shower. I was alarmed about Louis, but it did him 
no harm whatever. We were happy to be at pleasant 
Vailima again. 

^'January 3. There has been a terrific storm, last- 
ing three days, but the hurricane shutters were put 
up, and proved a great protection, though the house 
was dark and airless. Trees went crashing all around 
us. There was a curious exhilaration in the air, and 
the natives shouted with glee whenever anything 
came down. The road was filled with debris from 
the storm, which had to be cleared away before any 
one could pass. In the evening I was told that both 
the Fiji man and Simi had been spitting blood. The 
Fiji man seems to have a touch of pneumonia. Much 
to Simi's alarm we put the cupping glass on him, and 
the whole party of house servants escorted him to 
bed, shouting and laughing and dancing as they 
went. 

^^ January 7. Lloyd sailed to-day for San Fran- 
cisco, intending to make the round trip only, for a 
change of air. In the afternoon Joe and I jumped on 
one horse and galloped as fast as we could down to 
the landing, only to find that all the boats were out. 
Just then the American consul's boat returned to the 
landing. We sprang into it, and with the American 
flag flying over us, went speeding over the water, in 
spite of the fact that the German man-of-war was 
having target practice (a most dangerous proceeding) 
right across the harbor. As we drew near the ship 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 209 

we suddenly realized that tliey were holding it in the 
supposition that we were bringing a consular mes- 
sage. We saw Lloyd running on deck to see us, but, 
alarmed at the situation, we took a hasty departure. 
In the evening we heard very sweet and mournful 
singing in the servants' quarters, and on asking what 
it was were told by Talolo that it was a farewell to 
Loia (Lloyd). It was explained that the song was 
told to go to France, to Tonga, and other places to 
look for Lloyd, and, in case of not finding him there, 
to search all over the world for him and carry pleasant 
dreams to him. 

"January 11. To-day the Fiji man appeared in 
war paint — his nose blackened and black stripes under 
his eyes. Lafaele says the war is soon going to begin, 
adding 'Please, Tamaitai, you look out; when Samoa 
man fight he all same devil.' While we were talking 
low, dull thunder was rolling around the horizon, 
sounding, as we thought, very like the noise of battle. 
Strange to say there was not a cloud in the sky nor a 
flash of lightning to be seen. 

"All the Samoan women married to white men 
wish to express their gratitude to me for making it 
possible for them to return to their native dress or, 
rather, the dress introduced among them by the 
missionaries. Before we came, all such women were 
expected to dress in European fashion, for otherwise 
they were not considered respectable, and they were 
delighted and surprised when I and all the other 
women at Vailima appeared in the missionary dress. 
This dress, called the holahu, is nothing more than 
the old-fashioned sacque (known in America as the 



210 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

* Mother Hubbard'), which fortunately happened to 
be the mode in England when the missionaries first 
came to the South Seas. It was loose, cool, modest, 
and graceful, and so well suited to the natives and 
the hot climate of the islands that it became the 
regulation garment of the South Pacific. The climax 
seemed to be my going to a party in a very handsome 
black silk holaku with embroidered yoke and sleeves. 
The husbands have removed the taboo and several 
of the native ladies are to have fine silk gowns made 
in their own pretty, graceful fashion. Corsets must 
be agony to the poor creatures, and most of them 
are only the more clumsy and awkward for these 
European barbarities. I am very glad I have inad- 
vertently done so much good." 

The political pot was now boiling fiercely, but as 
the trouble in Samoa has been discussed in detail in 
other books, it is not my purpose to touch upon it 
here except in so far as any phase of it directly con- 
cerned Mrs. Stevenson herself. It is enough to say 
that the family espoused the cause of Mataafa, and 
in the diary Mrs. Stevenson describes a visit made 
by them to that monarch for the purpose of attempt- 
ing to reconcile the two parties. 

"On the second of May," she writes, "Louis, 
Teuila* and I, taking Talolo with us, went in a boat 
to Malie to visit King Mataafa. I took a dark red 
silk holaku, trimmed with Persian embroidery, and 
Teuila took a green silk one, in which to appear 
before royalty. Long before we got to the village 

* It will be remembered that Teuila was the native name of Mrs. 
Stevenson's daughter. 



TPIE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 211 

we could see the middle part of an immense native 
house rising up like a church spire. Mataafa's own 
house was the largest and finest I had ever seen, and 
there were others as large. Louis tried in vain to 
get an interpreter, but was fain to put up with Talolo, 
who nearly expired with fright and misery, for he 
could not speak the high chief language and felt that 
every word he uttered was an insult to Mataafa. 
We have been in the habit of referring to the king as 
'Charley over the water,' and toasting him by waving 
our glasses over the water bottle. Talolo had some 
vague notion of what this meant and now thought 
it a good time to do the same. To our great amuse- 
ment, he took his glass, waved it in the air, and cried 
'Charley in the water!' which we felt to be a rather 
ominous toast. His translations of ' Charley's ' words 
came to little more than 'Mataafa very much sur- 
prised (pleased),' but Louis knew enough Samoan to 
make a little guess at what was going on. The hava 
bowl was in the centre of the group, with the king's 
talking men beside it. Kava was first given to the 
king and Louis simultaneously — a great honor for 
Louis — then to Teuila and me. The king evidently 
supposed us both to be wives of Louis, and was much 
puzzled as to which was the superior in station, a 
dilemma which was finally neatly solved by serving 
us both at the same moment. I had seen that it was 
chewed kava* but in my weariness after the long 
journey I forgot that fact before it came my turn to 

In the old times kava, or ava, as it is sometimes spelled, was prepared 
by being chewed by young girls especially chosen for the pm-pose, and 
then made into a brew. 



212 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

drink. Before the bowl was offered to the king a 
libation was poured out and fresh water from a cocoa- 
nut shell was sprinkled first to the right and then to 
the left. The talking man and the others made 
polite orations, one of them likening Louis to Jesus 
Christ, at which Talolo manifested sighs of acute 
embarrassment. We were then offered a little re- 
freshment before dinner. The king, who was a Cath- 
olic, crossed himself and said grace. A folded leaf 
containing a quantity of arrowroot cooked in cocoanut 
milk by dropping in hot stones was placed before 
each of us, and each had the milk of a fresh young 
nut to drink. The arrowroot was grateful but diffi- 
cult to manage, on account of the stickiness, and a 
little gritty with sand from the stones. We were 
then invited to take a siesta behind an immense cur- 
tain of tapa that had been hung across one end of the 
room. There mats and pillows were laid for Teuila 
and me, and in a few seconds we were fast asleep. 
In an hour and a half we waked simultaneously and 
found dinner waiting for us. Louis then offered his 
present — a hundred-pound keg of beef — and the talk- 
ing man went outside and informed the populace, in 
stentorian tones, of the nature and amount of the 
present received. We ate of pig, fowl, and taro, in 
civilized fashion, sitting on chairs and using plates, 
tumblers, spoons, knives, and forks. After a walk 
about the village we all sat on mats under the eaves 
and conversed. A distant sound of singing was heard, 
and soon a procession of young men in wreaths, walk- 
ing two by two, came up to us and each deposited a 
root of taro, to which the king added a couple of 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 213 

young fowls, and an immense root of fresh hava. 
Speeches were made, after which mats were spread 
out for the dancers, who had been called by the sound 
of a bugle. There were two long rows of them, with 
two comic men and a hunchback, apparently the 
king's jester. They first sang a song of welcome to 
us, and then sang, danced, and acted several pieces — 
all well done and some very droll indeed. The hunch- 
back excelled particularly in an imitation of a circus 
that was here not long since. Louis could not speak 
successfully through Talolo, as he had more to say 
than 'much surprised,' so we then took our departure. 
We returned by moonlight, all ardent admirers of 
Mataafa. About a week later Louis went again, this 
time with an interpreter named Charley Taylor, and 
had a more satisfactory interview. In the early 
morning, at about four, he was awakened by the 
sound of some sort of pipe playing a curious air. 
When he inquired about this Mataafa told him that 
he always had this performance at the time of the 
singing of the early birds, as it conduced to pleasant 
dreams. His father, he added, would never allow a 
bird or animal to be injured, and, in consequence, 
was called the 'king of the birds.'" 

As the war-cloud grew blacker, the superstitious 
fears of Lafaele increased, and every day some new 
portent was reported. "On May 16," says the diary, 
"Lafaele and Araki reported that while walking on 
the road they met Louis riding on my horse Musu. 
What was their surprise and terror when they reached 
home to find that he had not left the house all day. 
Great anxiety and alarm are felt all over the place, 



214 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

for it is supposed that Louis sent his other self to see 
what Lafaele and Araki were about." Araki was a 
runaway "black boy," or Solomon Islander, from the 
German plantations, who became a member of the 
Vailima household in a rather dramatic way. One 
day a strange figure was seen flitting about the lawn 
behind the trees. The servants ran out and dragged 
in a thin, terrified black boy, who fell on his face 
before the master and begged for protection. Such 
a plea could not be refused, and Mr. Stevenson went 
down to the German firm and made arrangements to 
keep him. He soon began to fill out, and grew to be 
a saucy, lively fellow. Although the natives of Samoa 
look upon the Solomon Islanders as cannibals and 
savages, at Vailima they made a pet of Araki and 
dyed his bushy hair red and hung wreaths round his 
neck. 

''May 19. This is the twelfth anniversary of our 
marriage. It seems impossible. Also impossible that 
two years ago (or a little more) we came up to live 
in the bush. Everything looks settled and as though 
we had lived here for many years. 

''May 22. Saturday the captain of the Upolu 
came up and had luncheon with us. We had nothing 
but vegetables, curried and cooked in various ways, 
but no meat. Sunday there came a German vege- 
tarian when there were no vegetables and nothing 
but meat. . . . We are having a great deal of 
trouble with the servants, as Tomasi, the Fiji man, 
says his wife, Elena, is too good to associate with the 
other women, and Lafaele's little girl is terribly 
afraid of Araki, the black boy, although he speaks of 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 215 

her most tenderly as 'that little girlie.' When the 
last litter of pigs was born, each family on the place 
was given a pig, Elena chose a spotted boar, which 
she named Sale Taylor, and Lafaele took what he 
calls a 'mare pig,' that is, a little sow. Both pigs 
have been tamed and trot around after Elena and 
Fanua like pug dogs. They go to bed with tl>eir 
mistresses every night like babies, and must also be 
fed once in the night with milk like babies. Both 
pigs came to prayers this morning. . . . Talolo's 
brother, a beautiful young boy, has elephantiasis.* 
He has had it for a long time — about a year — but 
was afraid to tell. Worse than that has happened; 
one of our boys had a fit of insanity, during which it 
required the exertions of the entire household to 
restrain him from running off into the bush and losing 
himself. It became necessary to tie him down to 
the bed with strips of sheeting and ropes. The 
strangest thing about this occurrence is that Lafaele 
restored him to his senses in a short time by chewing 
up certain leaves that he brought from the bush 
and then putting them into the sick boy's ears and 
nostrils. I had a talk with Lafaele about his remedy. 
He told me that in case of lockjaw, if these chewed 
leaves are forced up the nostrils, first the jaw, then 
the muscles, will soon relax and the cure is accom- 
plished. For some reason he seems unwilling to point 
out the tree to me. . . . Talolo affords us much 

* A disease of the tropics, said to be transmitted by the bite of mosqui- 
toes, which causes enormous enlargement of the parts affected. Mrs. 
Stevenson cured this boy, Mitaele, of elephantiasis by Dr. Funk's remedy 
•f rubbing the diseased vein with blue ointment and giving him a certain 
prescribed drug. 



216 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

amusement with his naive ideas. I said to him, 'It 
seems to me that you Samoans do not feel badly 
about anything very long.' 'Yes, we do,' said Ta- 
lolo, seeming much hurt by the accusation. 'Wlien 
a man's wife runs away he feels badly for two or 
three days.' 

''July 3, 1893. Nothing is talked of or thought of 
but the impending war. One of our former men 
came up yesterday to draw out his wages. I asked 
him if he meant to act like a coward and take heads 
of wounded men. He said he meant to take all the 
heads he could get. I reasoned with him, as did 
Lloyd, but he stood respectfully firm, saying that 
each people had its own customs. I am afraid the 
government has not thought to forbid this abomina- 
tion, or has not dared. 

''July 8. News comes that the fighting has begun, 
and that eleven heads have been taken to Mulinuu,* 
and, worst of all, that one of the heads is that of a 
village maid, a thing before unheard-of among Sa- 
moans. 

"July 10. Mataafa is routed, and, after burning 
Malie, has fled to Manono. His son was killed with 
a hatchet and his head taken. In all we hear of 
three heads of women being brought in to Mulinuu. 
When Mataafa was the man before whom all trem- 
bled we offered him our friendship and broke bread 
with him. If I gave him loyalty then, fifty thousand 
times more do I give it now." 

At last the smoke and thunder of war rolled away, 
and peace and security came once more to dwell at 

* Mulinuu was the seat of government. King Malietoa lived there. 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 217 

Vaillma. Entertainments and gaieties again made 
the place lively. Mrs. Strong* describes one of these 
affairs in a letter to Mr. Stevenson's mother: 

"I suppose Louis will write and tell you of the 
grand day we had here when the sailors of the Ka- 
toomba were invited up here to play. We had twenty- 
four people on tlie place — natives, house boys, out- 
side boys, and contractors — and the house was gor- 
geously decorated with ferns and moso'oi flowers. 
One large table was piled high with cocoanuts, oranges, 
lemons, passion fruit, pineapples, mangoes, and even 
a large pumpkin and some ripe tomatoes, besides 
three huge bowls of lemonade. The other table had 
seven baked chickens, ham sandwiches, cakes and 
coffee — lots of all. At half-past twelve we saw the 
white caps bobbing at the gate, and sent Simile down 
to meet them. He was dressed in a dark coat and 
lavalava and white shirt, and looked very swagger 
indeed. The sailors all saluted Simile as he appeared, 
and in another moment — boom, bang, and the band 
burst out with the big drum in full swing, with the 
men, fourteen of them, all marching in time. The 
faces of our Samoans were stricken with amazement 
as the jackies marched up to the lawn in the blazing 
sun and finished the piece. The veranda was crowded 
v.ith our people, all in wreaths of flowers, and a num- 
ber of guests were there to witness the festivities. 
Well, we fed our sailors, who were all very red and 
hot and smiling, and the way they dipped into the 
lemonade was a caution. Then, to a guitar accom- 
paniment, one of them sang a song with a melo- 

* Now Mrs. Salisbury Field. 



218 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

dramatic story running through it about a poor fellow 
going to a house and sitting on the doorstep wan and 
weary, and seeing on the doorplate the name of Jas- 
per, Soon Jasper comes out, and though the poverty- 
stricken one pleads for a bit of bread he's told to go 
to the workhouse. 'I pays my taxes,' says the heart- 
less Jasper, *and to the workliouse you must go.' 
'And who would have thought it,' goes the chorus, 
'for we were schoolmytes, schoolmytes !' " 

A devastating epidemic of measles, much aggravated 
by the improper treatment given to patients by the 
natives, now broke out. Even Vailima did not escape 
its ravages, and Mrs. Strong writes of it on October 8 : 

"Everybody is well of the measles by now and all 
are crawling out into the sunshine. There have been 
a hundred and fifty deaths on this island alone. Our 
Sosimo was taken ill down in the town. Tamaitai 
and I went down to see him, and, finding him in a 
wretched state, had him brought home in a native 
sling on a pole, the way they carry wounded soldiers. 
None of our people died, for they willingly accepted 
our rules for their care." 

After the war was over, it was found that the stress 
and excitement of it all had told on Mr. Stevenson's 
health, and in the early part of September he went 
to Honolulu for a change. The trip was a disap- 
pointment, for he was taken quite seriously ill there, 
and his wife had to take steamer and go after him, 
arriving in a state of great anxiety. Under her tender 
care he soon recovered and they returned to Vailima. 

In Samoa, Tusitala was not the only "teller of 
tales," for all sorts of strange stories — some amusing, 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 219 

some scurrilous and malicious — were invented about 
the family at Vailima and ran current in the gossip 
"on the beach." One of the most fantastic of these 
inventions was that Mr. Stevenson had been married 
before to a native woman, and that Mrs. Strong* 
was his half-caste daughter by this marriage. The 
one advantage about this peculiar story was the 
hilarious fun he was able to get out of it. He made 
up all kinds of wonderful romances about the supposi- 
titious first wife, who he said was a native of Morocco, 
"black, but a damned fine woman." When Mrs. 
Stevenson scolded him for not wearing his cloak in 
the rain he pretended to weep and said: "Moroccy 
never spoke to me like that!" One evening Mrs. 
Strong heard gay laughter in her mother's room, and, 
going in to see what it was about, found her mother 
sitting up in bed laughing, while Louis walked up 
and down the room gesticulating and telling her the 
"true story" of his affair with Moroccy. 

So passed all too swiftly three full years — years 
crowded with work and play and many rare experi- 
ences — and less darkly shadowed by the spectre that 
had stalked beside them ever since their marriage. 
For this short space he knew what it was to live like 
a man, not like a "pallid weevil in a biscuit," and she, 
though her vigilance was never relaxed for a mo- 
ment, breathed somewhat more freely. The days 
sped happily by, until Thanksgiving, November 29, 
1894, which was celebrated with an elaborate dinner 
at Vailima. Mrs. Stevenson was anxious to have this 

* Mrs. Strong will be remembered as the little Isobel Osbourne of the 
early pages of this book. 



220 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

a truly American feast, from the turkey to the last 
detail, but cranberries were not to be had, so she pro- 
duced a satisfactory substitute from a native berry, 
and under her careful supervision her native servants 
succeeded in setting out a dinner that would have 
satisfied even an old Plymouth Rock Puritan. At 
the dinner, the last entertainment taken part in by 
Mr. Stevenson, in enumerating his reasons for thank- 
fulness, he spoke of his wife, who had been all in all 
to him when the days were very dark, and rejoiced 
in their undiminished affection. 

A day or two afterwards she was seized with a pre- 
sentiment of impending evil — a formless shadow that 
seemed to settle down upon her spirit, and that no 
argument could relieve. Her mother-in-law writes: 
*'I must tell you a very strange thing that happened 
just before his death. For a day or two Fanny had 
been telling us that she knew — that she felt — some- 
thing dreadful was going to happen to some one we 
cared for; as she put it, to one of our friends. On 
Monday she was very low and upset about it and 
dear Lou tried to cheer her. Strangely enough, both 
of them had agreed that it could not be to either of 
them that the dreadful thing was to happen." 

On the afternoon of December 3, 1894, according 
to their custom he took his morning's work for her 
criticism. She quickly perceived that in this, which 
neither dreamed was to be the last work of his pen, 
his genius had risen to its highest level, and she 
poured out her praise in a way that was unusual with 
her. It was almost with her words of commendation 
still ringing in his ears that he passed to the great 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 221 

beyond. In a letter addressed to his friends shortly 
afterwards, Lloyd Osbourne gives us the details of 
these last moments: 

"At sunset he came down-stairs, rallied his wife 
about the forebodings she could not shake off; talked 
of a lecturing tour to America that he was eager to 
make, 'as he was now so well,' and played a game of 
cards with her to drive away her melancholy. He 
said he was hungry; begged her assistance to help him 
make a salad for the evening meal; and to enhance 
the little feast he brought up a bottle of old Burgundy 
from the cellar. He was helping his wife on the 
veranda, and gaily talking, when suddenly he put 
both hands to his head and cried out: 'What's that.^^' 
Then he asked quickly: 'Do I look strange.'^' Even 
as he did so, he fell on his knees beside her." Just as 
he had leaned upon her for help, comfort, and advice 
for so many years of his life, so it was at her feet that 
he sank in death when the last swift summons came. 
He was helped into the great hall between his wife 
and his body servant, Sosimo, and at ten minutes 
past eight the same evening, Monday, December 3, 
1894, he passed away. 

Her great task was finished, and she sat with folded 
hands in the quiet house from which the soul had fled; 
but, although the lightning suddenness of the blow 
made it almost a crushing one, the bitterness of her 
grief was greatly softened by her firm belief in a life 
beyond the grave and the certainty of a reunion with 
him there. 

She bore this supreme sorrow with the same silent 
fortitude with which she had always met trouble, but 



222 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

a subtle change came over her. While it could not 
be said that she looked exactly old, yet the youthful- 
ness for which she had been so remarkable seemed 
suddenly to vanish, and her hair grew rapidly grey. 
A little child — Frank Norris's daughter — said, with 
an acuteness beyond her years: "Tamaitai smiles 
with her lips, but not with her eyes." 

Among the hundreds of letters of condolence which 
she received from all over the world, none, perhaps, 
came more directly from the heart than that written 
by her old friend, Henry James from which I have 
taken the following extracts: 

"My dear Fanny Stevenson: 

"What can I say to you that will not seem cruelly 
irrelevant or vain ? We have been sitting in darkness 
for nearly a fortnight, but what is our darkness to the 
extinction of your magnificent light ? You will prob- 
ably know in some degree what has happened to us — 
how the hideous news first came to us via Auckland, 
etc., and then how, in the newspapers, a doubt was 
raised about its authenticity — just enough to give 
one a flicker of hope; until your telegram to me via 
San Francisco — repeated also from other sources — 
converted my pessimistic convictions into the wretched 
knowledge. All this time my thoughts have hovered 
round you all, around you in particular, with a ten- 
derness of which I could have wished you might have, 
afar-off, the divination. You are such a visible pic- 
ture of desolation that I need to remind myself that 
courage, and patience, and fortitude are also abun- 
dantly with you. The devotion that Louis inspired 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 223 

— and of which all the air about you must be full — 
must also be much to you. Yet as I write the word, 
indeed, I am almost ashamed of it — as if anything 
could be 'much' in the presence of such an abysmal 
void. To have lived in the light of that splendid life, 
that beautiful, bountiful being — only to see it, from 
one moment to the other, converted into a fable as 
strange and romantic as one of his own, a thing that 
las been and has ended, is an anguish into which no 
one can enter with you fully and of which no one can 
drain the cup for you. You are nearest to the pain, 
because you were nearest the joy and the pride. But 
if it is anything to you to know that no woman was 
ever more felt with and that your personal grief is the 
intensely personal grief of innumerable hearts — know 
it well, my dear Fanny Stevenson, for during all these 
days there has been friendship for you in the very 
air. For myself, how shall I tell you how much 
poorer and shabbier the whole world seems, and how 
one of the closest and strongest reasons for going on, 
for trying and doing, for planning and dreaming of 
the future, has dropped in an instant out of life. I 
was haunted indeed with a sense that I should never 
again see him — but it was one of the best things in 
life that he was there, or that one had him — at any 
rate one heard him, and felt him and awaited him 
and counted him into everything one most loved and 
lived for. He lighted up one whole side of the globe, 
and was in himself a whole province of one's imagina- 
tion. We are smaller fry and meaner people without 
him. I feel as if there were a certain indelicacy in 
saying it to you, save that I know that there is noth- 



224 LIFE OF ]MIIS. R. L. STEVENSON 

ing narrow or selfish in your sense of loss — for him- 
self, however, for his happy name and his great visible 
good fortune, it strikes one as another matter. I 
mean that I feel him to have been as happy in his 
death (struck down that way, as by the gods, in a 
clear, glorious hour) as he had been in his fame. And, 
with all the sad allowances in his rich full life, he had 
the best of it — the thick of the fray, the loudest of 
the music, the freshest and finest of himself. It 
isn't as if there had been no full achievement and no 
supreme thing. It was all intense, all gallant, all 
exquisite from the first, and the experience, the fru- 
ition, had something dramatically complete in them. 
He has gone in time not to be old, early enough to 
be so generously young and late enough to have 
drunk deep of the cup. There have been — I think — 
for men of letters few deaths more romantically right. 
Forgive me, I beg you, what may sound cold-blooded 
in such words — or as if I imagined there could be 
anything for you 'right' in the rupture of such an 
affection and the loss of such a presence. I have in 
my mind in that view only the rounded career and 
the consecrated work. \\Tien I think of your own 
situation I fall into a mere confusion of pity and 
wonder, with the sole sense of your being as brave a 
spirit as he was (all of whose bravery you shared) to 
hold on by. Of what solutions or decisions you see 
before you we shall hear in time; meanwhile please 
believe that I am most affectionately with you. . . . 
More than I can say, I hope 3'our first prostration 
and bewilderment are over, and that you are feeling 
your way in feeling all sorts of encompassing arms — • 



THE HAPPY YEARS IN SAMOA 225 

all sorts of outstretched hands of friendship. Don't, 
my dear Fanny Stevenson, be unconscious of miney 
and believe me more than ever faithfully yours, 

"Henry James."* 

With this and the many other letters came one 
written in pencil on a scrap of paper, unsigned: 

"Mrs. Stevenson. 

"Dear IVIadam: — All over the world people will be 
sorry for the death of Robert Louis Stevenson, but 
none will mourn him more than the blind white leper 
at Molokai." 

* Quoted by courtesy of Henry James of New York, nephew of the 
novelist. 



CHAPTER IX 
THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 

As the slow, empty days passed, the weight of her 
sorrow bore more and more heavily upon her and she 
grew steadily weaker. Finally, the doctors said the 
only thing was change, so, in April, 1895, she set sail 
with her family for San Francisco. 

On the way a stop was made in Honolulu, where 
Mrs. Stevenson was deeply distressed to find the 
provisional government in control and her old friend. 
Queen Liliuokalanl, imprisoned. The deposed queen 
was kept in lolani Palace under close guard, and os- 
tensibly debarred from all visitors, but one must pre- 
sume the guard not to have been so strict as it seemed, 
for Mrs. Stevenson was able to gain entrance and 
secure an audience with the royal prisoner through 
the not very dignified avenue of the kitchen-door of 
the palace. When she gave expression to her pro- 
found sympathy and indignation at the turn affairs 
had taken, Liliuokalani rej^lied that she wished she 
had had Louis to advise her in her dark hours. 

A summer without special incident was spent in 
California — a grey summer for her, for her son and 
daughter tried in vain to interest her in things there. 
Her health improved, but she cared for nothing out- 
side of Samoa and only yearned to go back and be 
near the grave on Mount Vaea, so in the autumn they 
again turned their faces toward the Pacific Isles. 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 227 

When they left San Francisco tliey had added an- 
other member to their party — a small donkey named 
Dicky, given to Mrs. Stevenson by one of the Golden 
Gate Park commissioners, which she intended to use 
in driving about the plantation to a little Studebaker 
cart she had had made especially for the purpose. 
A little stable was put up on deck for Dicky and a 
bale of hay provided for him, but it was not long 
before the little fellow had become such a pet with 
the carpenter and his mates that he was taken into 
the forecastle to live with them and share their mess, 
eating his meals out of a tin plate. The men taught 
him many amusing tricks, and it got to be quite the 
thing for the cabin passengers to make trips down to 
the forecastle to see him do them and to feed him 
chocolate creams. At Wailiiki Beach, where they 
lived in a cottage attached to the Sans Souci Hotel 
during their stay of several months in Hawaii, Mrs. 
Stevenson often drove about the park in the little 
cart which was just fitted to Dicky. She was sur- 
prised at first to find that he would only make short 
trips and then come to a dead stop, from which it was 
impossible to budge him. Nothing would make him 
go on until his mistress got out and in again, and 
then he would pick up his little feet and trot on for 
another five minutes, when the same performance 
would have to be repeated. At last they realized 
that he had been trained to make five-cent trips at 
Golden Gate Park, and that nothing would ever 
break him of it. When they left Honolulu for Samoa 
they had difficulty in getting him on board the 
steamer, for although there was a belt and tackle to 



228 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

hoist him up, they could not drag him to it. One man 
— then two — then finally six men were hauling at 
him, while the ship waited, with all passengers on 
board and surveying the scene with intense amuse- 
ment. The captain suddenly shouted through a mega- 
phone: "Pull him the other way !" They did so and 
he immediately backed right up to the tackle and 
was hauled on deck amid the plaudits of the multi- 
tude. At Samoa he was a great pet; the native girls 
loved him and took him with them when they went 
to cut alfalfa for the cows. They made a pretty pic- 
ture coming through the forest — the girls in leaves 
and flowers and Dicky a walking mountain of green, 
with only his long ears sticking out and his bright 
eyes gleaming through the foliage. 

Honolulu brought back to Mrs. Stevenson many 
poignant memories of other days, of which she wrote 
to her mother-in-law in these words: 

"As you suppose, this has been a sad season with 
me. People say that one gets used to things with 
time, but I do not believe it. Every day seems 
harder for me to bear. I say to myself many com- 
forting things, but even though I believe them they 
do not comfort me. Everything here reminds me of 
Louis, and I do not think there is one moment that I 
am not thinking of him. People say: 'What a comfort 
his great name must be to you ! ' It is a pride to me, 
but not a comfort; I would rather have my Louis 
here with me, poor and unknown. And I do not like 
to have my friends offer me their sympathy — only 
you and one or two who loved him for what he was 
and not for what he did. ... As to his Christianity 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 229 

his life and work show what he was. I know that 
whether or not he always succeeded in living up to 
his intentions, he was a true follower of Christ, a real 
Christian, and not many have come as close as he; 
and I believe that not many have tried as honestly 
and earnestly. In this place everything reminds me 
of him, and I feel that I must see him. I cannot be- 
lieve that all these months have passed since he left 
us. Perhaps the whole time will not seem so long 
until we meet again. It gives me a sharp shock when 
I hear him spoken of as dead. He is not dead to me 
— I cannot think it nor feel it. He is only waiting, I 
seem to feel, somewhere near at hand." 

After a winter spent in Hawaii, during which the 
marriage of her son took place, Mrs. Stevenson and 
her daughter sailed, in May, 1896, for Samoa. In 
these various trips between San Francisco and the 
islands she usually sailed on the Mariposa, and be- 
cause she had so much baggage Captain Morse and 
the other officers took to calling the ship "Mrs. Ste- 
venson's lighter." 

Their home-coming, being unexpected, was rather 
forlorn. They reached Vailima in the evening and 
went to bed rather drearily in the empty house, Mrs. 
Strong having determined to get breakfast as best 
she could the next morning and then send out word 
to their former Samoan helpers. After their long 
journey she slept late, and, springing from her bed 
somewhat guiltily, ran to the window. What was her 
astonishment to see smoke coming out of the cook- 
house chimney, Talolo at the door, and lopu, the 
yard man, coming up with a pail of water — all the 



230 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

business of the place, in fact, going on like clockwork, 
just as though they had never been absent for a day ! 
Running into her mother's room, she found her sit- 
ting up in bed just finishing her breakfast, which had 
been brought up on a tray by Sosimo. The news 
had gone forth the night before that they had re- 
turned, and every man of the Vailima force was at 
his post at break of day. 

Once more the lonely widow took up the routine of 
her life, and, though its main incentive had gone, in 
time there came to her a sort of melancholy satisfac- 
tion in living among the scenes made dear by memo- 
ries of the loved one. The scale on which the house- 
hold had been conducted was now cut down very 
much, and she and her daughter, retaining but a few 
of the former great retinue of servants, led a calm 
and peaceful life among their tropic flowers. "Vai- 
lima is so lovely now," writes Mrs. Strong to the 
elder Mrs. Stevenson. "The trees are all so big, and 
the hibiscus hedge is over ten feet high and blazing 
with flowers. The lawn is like velvet and everywhere 
the grass is knee-high. If it is true that Louis can see 
us from another world he would be pleased with this 
day. This is the day when we decorate the grave, 
and all the afternoon people kept coming with flowers 
and strange Samoan ornaments. You should have 
seen Leuelu's sisters in silk bodices trimmed with 
gold braid, and green velvet lavalavas bordered with 
plush furniture fringe ! And they looked very fine, 
too. Once arrived on the mountain top we stood 
looking at the magnificent view of the sea, and the 
coral reef, and the distant mountains. We banked 
%he grave with flowers and the wreath of heather 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 231 

that you sent. Chief Justice Ide and his two beauti- 
ful daughters were there." 

Mother and daughter spent pleasant days in the 
garden — digging up kava roots, stringing them on 
twine and hanging them up in the hall to dry, and 
in many another homely task. In the evening they 
played chess, and, as neither knew the game, they were 
well matched, and spent engrossing evenings over it. 
Sometimes they would light a lantern and walk over 
to see Mr. Caruthers, the lawyer, who lived more than 
a mile away. When he saw the flicker of their lan- 
tern through the palm-trees he would wind up his 
little musical box and they could hear its tinkle of 
welcome. "We walked barefoot,"* says Mrs. Strong, 
"and I shall never forget those lovely walks at night 
and the feel of the soft, mossy grass under our feet. 
Mr. Caruthers was a clever, interesting man. His 
Samoan wife would sit by sewing, and his children 
would study their lessons in the other room while we 
sat on his veranda and had long talks. On the night 
of his farewell visit to us we stood on the veranda at 
Vailima and looked out on a glittering moonlight 
night, the lawn sloping before us, the great shadowy 
trees beyond, and in the distance the blue line of the 
sea — 'nothing between us and the North Pole,' we 
used to say. Mr. Caruthers said, 'How can you leave 
this for any other country .^^ This is the "cleaner, 
greener land,'" and he quoted Kipling's verses." 

The two women lived in perfect security in their 
lonely forest home, never having the slightest fear of 
the natives who passed that way in their comings and 

* It is the custom in Samoa to go barefoot in the wet season, in order 
to avoid the unpleasantness of soggy wet shoes. 



232 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

goings. Once in the middle of the night Mrs. Strong 
was waked up by the sound of voices on the veranda, 
and, running down, found her mother surrounded by 
twenty Samoans, all with baskets. Mrs. Stevenson, 
hearing the sound of talking, had come down, to find 
these men coming heavily laden from the direction of 
the Vailima taro, yam, cocoanut, and banana plan- 
tation. "I politely asked them," says Mrs. Strong, 
"to show my mother the contents of their baskets. 
They agreed readily enough, and one after another 
they opened their baskets at her feet, disclosing noth- 
ing but edible wild roots, until we began to feel 
abashed and asked them to desist. Nothing would 
do, however, but that each of the twenty should 
empty out his basket, with much laughing and joking, 
and thereby prove his innocence of having plundered 
the plantation. As a peace offering, my mother 
directed me to give them some twists of tobacco and 
tins of salmon and biscuit. Then they explained 
that, owing to the breadfruit having been blown off 
the trees while still green, by a hurricane, there had 
been a famine in their village. Their Samoan pride 
made them ashamed for the other villages to know 
that they were reduced to eating wild roots, and so 
they had sneaked up in the night to the bush back 
of our plantation and filled their baskets with the 
roots. We apologized again and went back to bed. 
The twenty Samoans sat on our veranda for hours 
singing, but, although our servants were gone for the 
night and we two white women were entirely alone 
in the house, we felt no fear. Where else in the 
world could this have happened .f*" 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 233 

Secluded as Vailima was, the family could not even 
here escape the curiosity of tourists, for on "steamer 
days" there was always a procession of them going 
up the hill from Apia to see the home of Stevenson. 
One day its mistress was directing some workmen on 
the roof of the carriage house when a party of tourists 
came up and asked if that was Vailima and where 
was Mrs. Stevenson. She replied, "No spik English," 
and they went on to the house, sat on the veranda 
and had tea, never dreaming that the odd little per- 
son in the blue gown, directing the roofing of the 
carriage house, was Mrs. Stevenson herself. 

The variety of her experiences and the wide scope 
of her abilities may be shown better than in any 
other way, perhaps, by quotations from a small note- 
book which she had carried with her from one end of 
the world to the other. These entries show that she 
did not simply "do the best she could," but that she 
made a conscientious study of how to take care of her 
invalid husband, what to do in emergencies, how to 
feed him when they were on ships or desert islands, 
etc. In every place that they went to she kept her 
eyes open and learned new receipts for cooking, sick- 
ness, and all the other requirements of life. The 
entries were jotted down so hastily and often under 
such peculiar circumstances that in many cases they 
are written upside down, so that you have to keep 
turning the book about to follow it. I quote here a 
few of the most characteristic entries: 

The telephone number of a chronometer maker 
(Butler, Clay 416). 

Mr. Antone knows all about Samoan vegetation. 



234 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

Our marriage day was the 19th of May. [Neither 
she nor Mr. Stevenson could ever remember the date 
of any event, not even that of their marriage, so she 
evidently made sure of it by putting it in the note- 
book.] 

Name of my adopted father [in the South Seas] is 
Paaena. Name of Pa's village is Atuona. 

Addresses of friends in San Francisco, London, 
Scotland, Nebraska, Philadelphia, France, Italy, New 
York, Hawaii. 

Receipt for Spanish fish. 

Lotion for the hands. 

Then follow a number of prescriptions stamped and 
evidently written out by the chemist. They are for 
a "tickling cough," "night sweats," "for light blood 
spitting," "for violent hemorrhages," "how to Inject 
ergotine tonic for weakness after spitting blood," and 
"hypodermic injections for violent hemorrhages." 
Among other doctors' prescriptions pasted In the 
book there is one for cankered ear In dogs. It was 
this prescription that she used on a young English 
oflBcer of the Curagoa who was visiting Vailima, and 
who was suffering terribly from some ear trouble. 
Mrs. Stevenson said to him, "I can cure you if you 
will let me treat you with my dog medicine." He 
agreed, and, as a result, was well enough to attend a 
theatre that night, and before long was entirely recov- 
ered. 

One Interesting prescription, written and signed In 
a hand that looks very French, has the heading in 
Mrs. Stevenson's hand, "Elixir of Life." 

How to make roof paint. 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 235 

How to make house paint. 

Dr. Funk's cure for elephantiasis. [She cured sev- 
eral of her Samoan servants of this dread disease with 
this simple remedy.] 

Dr. Russel's cure for anemia. 

Receipts for ginger beer, lemon pudding, Icing, and 
candy, oranges in syrup, macaroni and corn, savory, 
pineapple cake, taro and fish rolled into balls and 
fried, Abdul Rassak's mutton curry, home mincemeat, 
rice yeast and bannocks for cooking aboard ship, Bu- 
tarltarl potato cake and pudding. Ah Fu's pig's head. 
All Fu's yeast, pork cake, fritters, mulled wine, and 
green corn cakes. 

A memorandum of a lock to be turned by figures. 

Medicine for tona — ^boils with which Samoan chil- 
dren are often afflicted. 

More cooking receipts — Magzar fowl, Tautira duff, 
raw-fish salad from a Tahiti receipt, strawberry short- 
cake, spontaneous yeast, banana popoi, Pennsylvania 
scrapple, mitl sauce to eat with pig roasted under- 
ground, baked breadfruit, breadfruit pudding, onion 
soup, bisque of lobster, boulllabalse, banana beer, 
Russian risotto, Scotch woodcock, Russian pancake, 
Spanish tortillas, and blackberry cordial. 

Bamboo fence. 

To graft mangoes. 

Fill wet boots with oats. 

How to mend a hole in a boat (Captain Otis). 

Abdul Rassak's receipt for taking the poison out 
of cucumbers. 

Creosote In a cupboard to keep out flies and pre- 
serve meat. 



236 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

Furniture polish. 

To make a Hawaiian oven. 

To make Tahitian flowers and ornaments. 

To clean Benares ware. 

To destroy red ants. 

To preserve meats. 

How to keep butter cool in hot weather. 

To knit a baby's hood. 

Crochet cover for a pincushion [with a little picture 
showing it when finished]. 

Surely, It would not be easy to duplicate this cos- 
mopolitan list in any other woman's notebook. 

Among the villages of the island there was one, 
Vaiee, with which the Stevensons had a special friend- 
ship, dating back to the first year of their arrival In 
Samoa. At that time the villagers were building a 
church and had saved up sixty dollars with which to 
buy corrugated iron for the roof. One day a deputa- 
tion of elders, headed by the chief, called on Mr. Ste- 
venson to ask If he would act as their agent in buying 
the iron. Of course, he was Interested at once and 
laid out the money to such good advantage that they 
got more corrugated iron than sixty dollars had ever 
bought before. After that they came again with 
small sums, which were kept for them in the Vailima 
safe, and whenever they wanted to buy anything for 
the village he helped them to get good value for their 
money. Their gratitude sometimes took embarrass- 
ing forms, as on one occasion when they brought a 
present of a large white bull with a wreath around Its 
neck. At other times, they brought offerings of tur- 
tles, rolls of tapa, fish, and pigs; and on the night of 
Mr. Stevenson's death several of the chiefs crossed 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 237 

the island on foot and were in time to help the men 
who were cutting the road to Mount Vaea. 

Remembering all this, when the village of Vaiee 
invited Mrs. Stevenson and her daughter to make 
them a visit they naturally wanted to go. This sort 
of visiting trip — usually lasting three days, one to 
arrive, one to visit, and one to go — is called a malaga 
(accented on second syllable — malan'ga), and is a very 
popular institution among the natives. The visiting 
party generally travels in state, taking with it a boat, 
food, and servants. The story of the malaga to the 
village of Vaiee follows in Mrs. Strong's own words: 

"There was only a footpath over the mountain, 
and as we had to cross many torrents on no better 
bridge than a felled cocoanut tree, we could not even 
go on horseback. My mother was not able to make 
the trip on foot, and I conceived the brilliant idea of 
slinging a chair with ropes to two poles and having 
our Samoan men carry her in it. So all was arranged, 
and we made an early morning start. I walked bare- 
foot and my mother sat in her 'sedan chair' like an 
island princess, with her little bare feet swinging with 
the swaying of the chair. We had four men for 
relays in carrying the chair, while others carried our 
presents — tins of biscuits, barrels of salt beef, rolls of 
calico, and numerous trinkets — besides our wardrobe, 
which contained a 'silika' (silk) dress for each of us 
in which to do honor to our hosts. 

"As we swung into the Ala Loto Alofa* — an odd 
procession, for our boys had decorated us with wreaths 
and garlands — we passed a carriage-load of surprised 

* This was the "Road of the Loving Hearts," built by the Mataafa 
chiefs in return for Tusitala's kindness to them when they were in prison. 



238 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

* steamer-day' tourists who laad come up the moun- 
tainside to look at Vailima. As our little party 
wound into the forest the road grew gradually steeper, 
and we walked under the dense shade of huge trees, 
hung with lianas, orchids, and other parasitic plants. 
The jungle was so thick that now and then the men 
had to cut away branches with their cane knives to 
make a passage for us. This sounds like hard work, 
but the wild banana plants, giant ferns, lush grass, 
and fat leaves fell before one slash of the knife. It 
was damp and a little breathless in the depths of the 
forest, but we rested often on the way. The worst 
place was about a mile of swamp land that was full 
of leeches. They fell on us from the overhanging 
branches of the trees, and as our feet sank into the 
mud they stuck to our ankles. However, the men 
were constantly on the lookout for them, and when 
they saw one would sprinkle salt on it and it would 
immediately fall off. We had invited an English 
couple, a Captain F. and his wife, who were staying 
at the hotel, to go with us. The lady wore shoes, 
and as her feet grew more and more soppy from walk- 
ing in the damp grass and through the swamps she 
suffered a good deal. I was much better off walking 
barefoot. 

"By nightfall we reached the summit of the moun- 
tain, where there was a house, and there we had an 
example of Samoan hospitality. The house was not 
large enough to hold us and its occupants, . too, so 
they had built a big oven,* stuffed it with food, laid 

* A Samoan oven is made by digging a hole, lining it with hot stones, 
putting on top of them pigs, fish, chickens, taro, yams, etc., all wrapped 
in banana leaves, then piling hot stones on them and covering the whole 
with earth. In about four hom-s everything is cooked. 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 239 

out fine mats for our beds, and then quietly decamped. 
We never even saw our hosts to thank them. It was 
a glorious night on the summit, for the full moon 
made the scene as bright as daylight, and in the dis- 
tance we could see the ocean all around us. It made 
us feel very small and a little frightened to see what 
a tiny island it was we had been living on with such 
a feeling of security. Before us a beautiful waterfall 
fell away into the thickets of greenery. 

*'0n the way up we crossed many streams, and I 
held my breath to see the two men carrying my 
mother's chair run lightly across the teetering log 
bridges, but she sat there smiling, not a bit afraid 
and enjoying every minute of it. Our English friends 
and I were carried over by the natives. I simply 
shut my eyes, clutched the thick hair of my carrier 
and held my breath till we were on the other side. 

"Making ourselves at home in the house so kindly 
left to our use, we set the boys to open the oven and 
remove its contents, and then we sat down and made 
a grand feast — roast pig, chicken, taro, yams, and 
breadfruit — all fresh and hot. Our boys had brought 
salt, limes, and bread, and on the way up we gathered 
fresh cocoanuts to drink with our dinner. Then we 
lay down on the soft mats and fell sound asleep in 
our borrowed house on the top of our little world. 

"In the morning, we began the descent of the other 
side, which was much easier and quicker. When we 
were within a mile of the village we were shown a 
pool; then the men retired and we women took a 
swim, after which we put on our 'silika' dresses and 
started on. Children had been stationed along the 
path to look out for us, and, though we could see no 



240 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

one, we heard shouts of ^XJa maliu mai tamaitaV (the 
ladies are coming), going from one to another. At 
the entrance to the village my mother got out of her 
chair and we walked on. The manaia, or beauty 
man of the village, accompanied by two magnificent 
looking aides, came forward to meet us. They were 
oiled and polished till they shone like bronze, and on 
their heads they wore the great ceremonial head- 
dresses. Their only garments were short kilts of 
tapa, which made a fine display of their lace-like tat- 
tooing. On their right arms they wore twists of green 
with boars' tusks, while their ankles were encircled 
with green wreaths and their necks with the whale- 
tooth necklaces that denote rank. It seemed strange 
to be received by young men, for in all our other trips 
either Louis or Lloyd was the guest of honor — mak- 
ing it a man's party — and to them the village maid, 
or taupo, with her girl attendants, acted as hostess. 
As ours was a woman's party, we were received by 
young men. The manaia gave his hand to my 
mother, the other two escorted me and the English 
lady, and, with the poor husband trailing along be- 
hind, we walked with stately pomp across the malae* 
to the guest house. There was not a soul in sight, 
and, though the children must have been bursting 
with interest and curiosity, not one was to be seen. 
The guest house stood in the centre of the little vil- 
lage, which lay on the seashore, overlooking a small 
bay. Behind it the forest climbed the slopes of steep 
mountains, down which several streams and water- 

* The malae is the green lawn around which all Samoan villages are 
built. 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 241 

falls rushed into the sea, and in front the smooth 
wide beach stretched its white length. On each side 
were the plantations of bananas, cocoanuts, and 
other tropic fruits, while scattered here and there 
among the brown thatched houses the breadfruit 
trees spread out their huge branches of shining green. 
"The guest house had been decorated with leaves, 
ferns, and flowers. As we ducked under the eaves, 
our eyes a little dazzled by the brightness of the sun- 
light, we were received by the tawpo and her maidens, 
who were spreading fine mats for us to sit on. Oh 
the sweet, cool, clean freshness of a native house ! It 
would not be fair to call it a hut, for that suggests 
squalor, or makeshift, whereas these houses are works 
of art. The roof rises inside like a great dome, the 
inner thatch being intricately woven in patterns, 
while the floor is made of clean pebbles, neatly laid 
and covered with fine mats. In the centre of the 
house the main pole stands like a tall mast, with 
several cross-bars w^here the furniture — rolls of mats 
and ta'pa, kava bowls and cups — is kept. There is 
nothing else in the room, except, perhaps, one or two 
camphor- wood chests. The centre pole in the house 
at Vaiee was wound round and about with ropes of 
frangipani flowers, while bright red hibiscus bells 
decorated the cross bars, and ferns in long wreaths 
were looped round the edge of the room. The eaves 
come down pretty low, about four feet from the 
gromid, so that one has to stoop to enter. 

"After receiving us with great cordiality, making us 
comfortable with fans, etc., the girls joined us as we 
sat stiffly in a semi-circle, waiting for the chief — for 



242 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

we knew our Samoan manners. Presently we saw 
him coming, dressed very plainly in a kilt of tapa and 
carrying the high chief fly flapper.* He was accom- 
panied by his talking man, with his tall staff of office, 
and several of the lesser house chiefs — all looking 
very important and impressive. After shaking hands 
with us (which is not a Samoan custom and always 
spoils the dignity of a fine entrance), they sat in a 
semi-circle facing us. Then the talking man drew a 
long breath and started in. Samoan talking men, or 
tulafale, are noted for their eloquence, but it is the 
wearisome part of a malaga to have to listen to hours 
of high-flown discourse. At last, however, with a 
final burst of oratory, our relief came, and then the 
taupo made and served the kava. In later years the 
Samoans learned to grate the root for brewing, but 
on that occasion it was prepared in the good old- 
fashioned island way. The taupo and her girls first 
washed their mouths out several times with fresh 
water and then chewed the roots — nibbled them, 
rather, very daintily — until there was enough for a 
brew. This was put in the middle of a huge wooden 
bowl (shallow and with eight short legs, all carved 
out of one piece of wood), and water was poured over 
it. The taupo,'\ very self-conscious, sitting cross- 
legged before the bowl, dressed to the nines in flowers 
and ferns, with a piece of red hibiscus flower stuck on 
one cheek like a beauty patch, her short hair oiled 
and sprinkled with grated sandalwood, was as pretty 

* The fly flapper is a carved stick with a horse-hair tassel on the end. 
t The taupo is the maid of the village. She is chosen for her beauty 
and is the ofScial hostess to receive all guests. 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 243 

as a picture. The cup was presented first to the 
chief,* who made a little speech of welcome — 'May 
your visit be a happy one' — then drank off the con- 
tents and spun the cup along the floor. It was now 
presented to my mother, who took a sip only, and 
afterwards to me. I poured a libation and said in 
Samoan 'Blessed be our high chief meeting.' Then 
came our English friends and Laulii,t who came with 
us to officiate as 'talking man' for our party. She 
made a charming little speech that made everybody 
laugh, and then, the ceremonies being over, we all 
gathered together for a real talk. We brought news 
from Apia — we asked news of Vaiee. When I got 
into deep water with my Samoan, Laulii would help 
me out, and we would both translate what was said 
to my mother and the others. The manaia and his 
young men, who had taken a back seat while their 
elders received us, came over to join in the talk and 
tell us of the preparations for our visit. 

"Immediately after the ceremonies of our recep- 
tion we presented our gifts to the chief, Laulii was 
the spokesman for us, and the village talking man 
stood in the door of the guest house and announced 
in a loud voice the list of our presents, while from the 
inside of the surrounding houses came the sound of 
clapping hands. This ceremony of presenting gifts 
was done humorously, Laulii making many jokes 

* Nowadays the Samoans, having learned European ways, present the 
cup first to the ladies, but then it was faa-Samoa, that is, in Samoan 
fashion. 

t Laulii, the Samoan wife of Mr. Willis, was a close friend of Mrs. 
Stevenson while she lived in the islands, and after she left there came to 
California to make her a visit at the ranch near Gilroy. 



244 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

and local hits which were received with polite laugh- 
ter. 

"We were three days in Vaiee, during which we 
were entertained by dances of the village girls, war 
and knife dances by the manaia and his young men, 
and, besides being furnished with good food all the 
time, we were honored with one grand feast, which 
was attended by the whole village. On the morning 
of the second day we were sitting in the guest house, 
which, by the simple expedient of hanging up a sheet 
of tapa, had been turned into two bedrooms for the 
night, when some native girls called my attention 
and pointed out to sea. A number of canoes were 
to be seen coming round the point at the mouth of 
the harbor, and as they came nearer we could hear 
the oarsmen singing and could distinguish our names. 
They were bringing — so they sang — the fish to Ta- 
maitai Aolele — they had been out all night gathering 
turtles for Tamaitai Teuila. 

"Later in the day there was a grand talolo, or cere- 
mony of gift giving. My mother, as guest of honor, 
sat just inside the guest house, on a pile of mats, with 
the rest of us in a semi-circle around her, all facing 
the sea. There was a hum and buzz of excitement 
in the village, and we could catch glimpses of fine 
headdresses and old women scurrying about with 
mats and flowers. Soon the procession appeared, 
led by the manaia in full costume, dancing and twirl- 
ing his head knife, and accompanied by several young 
men. After them came others bearing gifts hung 
from poles. Laulii, as our 'talking man,' received 
them, and our servants, in a little group, made up a 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOGD 245 

fine chorus. The manaia and his young men came 
up, danced in front of us, and then, taking the poles 
from their attendants, laid three large turtles before 
us, calling out that they were a humble offering from 
the men of Vaiee to the great and glorious and beau- 
tiful lady of Vailima. Laulii received them, to my 
surprise, with jeering remarks that threw everybody 
into fits of laughter, evidently quite the correct thing 
to do. The next people brought a huge fish, nets of 
crabs, strings of brightly coloured fish, and sharks' 
fins, 

"Seeing that one of the young men had a rag tied 
round his thumb, I asked him if he had hurt his hand. 
He replied that when he dived for the turtle it caught 
him by the thumb, and if his friends hadn't gone to 
his aid he might have drowned. He told it ^s though 
it would have been a great joke on him. We were 
all pretty well acquainted by this time, and every- 
body threw in remarks. Then our boys removed 
the presents, chose what we would take with us — 
only a small portion — and the rest was returned to 
the village for the feast. On state occasions the men 
are the cooks, and there is one dish that is only to 
be prepared by the manaia — who has to array him- 
self in full war paint to serve it — and a grand dish it 
is, composed of breadfruit dumplings stewed in cocoa- 
nut cream in a wooden bowl by means of hot stones 
dropped in. The dumplings are served in a twist of 
banana leaf, and each has a stick thrust in it to eat 
it by. The grand feast was held about four o'clock, 
in a long arbor built for the occasion of upright sticks 
covered with cocoanut-palm leaves. Fresh green 



246 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

banana leaves served as a tablecloth, and on it was 
spread every dainty known to Samoa — pigs baked 
underground, turtle, whole fish, chickens, taro, yams, 
roasted green bananas, broiled fresh-water prawns, 
crabs, a fat worm that we pretended to eat but didn't, 
heart of cocoanut-tree salad with dressing made of 
cream from the nuts, limes and sea-water, and 
all kinds of fruit. We were all so hungry that, if 
it hadn't been for Laulii's warning, we might have 
fallen to before the chief said grace, which would 
have been a shocking breach of good manners. The 
first ceremonious stiffness having worn off by this 
time, the meal was enlivened by much friendly gaiety. 

"That evening was given over to the dances, which 
lasted till nearly midnight. The manaia and the 
iawpo had each written songs and composed music 
for the dances in our honor, and copies of them, 
written out neatly by the schoolmaster, were pre- 
sented to us. Our friend, the English captain, made 
a great hit with the young men by exhibiting feats of 
strength, which they all copied, being highly delighted 
when they beat the Englishman, but cheering gener- 
ously when he beat them. Then we played casino, 
with sticks of tobacco on our side and head knives, 
fans, etc., on theirs, for stakes. I perceived that the 
manaia purposely played badly in order to let me 
win his head knife, on which he had carved my name. 

"We had intended returning over the mountain 
as we came, but the chief suggested that we go back 
by sailboat, as they had a very good one, and we 
could stop at some village every night on the way 
home. When we saw the boat we found it to be a 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 247 

primitive affair, with a bent tree for a mast and the 
sails tied with rotten ropes, but, knowing the natives 
to be the best boatmen in the world, we decided to 
take our chances and rely on their skill to pilot us 
safely home. We sent a number of our men back 
over the mountain to carry our share of the presents, 
but, as we were going to stop at villages on the way 
we took with us our part of the feast — several turtles, 
and, in lieu of calico or European things, which were 
not to be had at this retired place, some tapa — for 
gifts. Before we left I made a parcel of sandwiches 
— of tinned tongue and stale bread — in case we got 
hungry, for it is often a 'long time between feasts.' 

"Everybody wanted to go with us, and, though 
the chief did his best to hold them back, the little 
boat was so crowded that we were nearly level with 
the water. As we went around by the windward side 
of the island, it was a rough trip. 

"I noticed that the boatmen were narrowly watch- 
ing my mother as she paddled in the water with her 
hand over the side of the boat, but did not understand 
the reason until afterwards, when we found out that, 
a little while before, a man had had his hand bitten 
off by a shark, and another who was sitting on the 
edge of a canoe had had a large piece of his thigh 
bitten out. The natives, being too polite to tell her 
to stop dabbling in the water, preferred to keep close 
watch themselves and be ready to strike with their 
oars if a shark should rise. 

"At the first village where we stopped for the 
night we had a ticklish job getting through the reef, 
for there was but one small opening, and if we missed 



248 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

it we would be smashed to pieces. The wind was 
blowing towards the shore, and the great breakers 
crashing against the reef sent white spray high into 
the air. The boatmen were all pulling ropes and 
shouting orders at once. It seemed as though we 
were driving straight into the reef, and I looked on 
terror-stricken, but my mother chose that moment 
to say cheerfully, ' I think I'll have a sandwich ! ' 

"The last day of our trip we ran inside the reef, 
where it was smooth sailing. Surely there is no mode 
of travelling on earth so enchanting as this; we went 
gliding over the blue water, with a sea-garden of coral, 
marine mosses, and brilliantly coloured fish below us, 
the white sails bellying before the breeze, the natives 
singing, the shore with its palms and little villages 
half hidden in green foliage slipping by, the moun- 
tains standing high against the sky, while on the 
other side of the barrier reef the surf pounded in 
impotent fury, throwing up a hedge of white, foaming 
spray. We seemed to be part of a living poem. 

"When at length our delightful expedition came to 
an end and we landed at Apia, we found ourselves 
confronted by a rather ridiculous dilemma. My 
mother had not worn any shoes going over to Vaiee, 
which was quite in keeping with native customs and 
more comfortable for walking on the soft moss and 
lush grass in the damp, dripping woods, but it was 
another thing to land in Apia at the hotel barefoot. 
She slipped in as unobtrusively as possible and no 
one saw her. We had supper in our rooms — or, 
rather, on the veranda connected with them. The 
next morning I ran out to buy her some shoes — any 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 249 

kind — but there were none small enough. At last 
our little carriage was sent down from Vailima and 
came around to the side entrance. My mother got 
in without being seen and took the reins, but the 
horse, having been overfed with oats by Eliga in his 
desire to treat it kindly, began to leap and plunge, 
and dashed around to the front, where a number of 
the hotel guests were gathered. I heard them say, 
'That is Mrs. Stevenson,' and all ran to look. As the 
horse continued to plunge about they all called out 
'Jump, Mrs. Stevenson!' but she held on. I knew 
why she didn't jump — It was because of her bare 
feet. She was otherwise very neatly dressed in black, 
with hat and veil and gloves. Finally one man, 
bolder than the rest, reached in and lifted her out, 
and her little bare feet were seen waving in the air ! " 
One day, not long after this — July 17, 1896, to be 
exact — Mrs. Stevenson and her daughter were driv- 
ing along the beach at Apia, when they were sur- 
prised to see a strange craft in the bay — a curious 
little sloop that they knew had not been seen nor 
heard of before in those waters. On inquiry they 
found it was the famous Spray, in which Captain 
Joshua Slocum, of Boston, sailed alone around the 
world. They called on the adventurous skipper at 
once and invited him to visit Vailima, which he did 
on the following day. Mrs. Stevenson was delighted 
with the unconventional ways and conversation of 
the captain, and, indeed, found in him much that 
was kindred to her own spirit. When he wished to 
buy some giant bamboo from her plantation for a 
mast for his little vessel, she, of course, made him a 



250 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

present of It, and had it cut and taken down by the 
natives. He told her of his visit to the missionary 
bark, the Star of Hope, which was then in port at 
Apia. He was shown into their chart room and 
looked at their instruments, upon which he remarked, 
"I am a better Christian than you are, for you have 
two chronometers and a sextant, while I have only 
my belief in God and an old clock." When asked 
why he didn't take a sheep or some chickens along 
with him to eat as a relief from his constant diet of 
canned goods, he said, "You can't kill a fellow-passen- 
ger. Out in the great stillness you get fond even of 
a chicken, and as for pigs, they are the most lovable 
and intelligent of animals." 

Joshua Slocum was a magnificent specimen of 
strength and health, and his manly figure was well 
set off by the clothing — or, rather, the lack of it — 
used in the tropics. When Mrs. Stevenson met him 
afterwards in New York she was much struck by the 
change caused in his appearance by the wearing of a 
conventional black suit, and regretted that he had 
to hide his real beauty — his lithe, strong figure — in 
ugly broadcloth. She had a great and sincere admira- 
tion for him, as she always had for physical courage 
in any form. In her preface to TJte Wrong Box she 
says, "Some time after Louis's death Captain Joshua 
Slocum, on his way round the world alone in the 
little sloop Spray, came to the house at Vallima. 
Here, I thought, was a mariner after my husband's 
own heart. Who had a better right to the directories 
[studied by Stevenson at Saranac when planning for 
the South Sea cruise] than this man who was about 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 251 

to sail those very seas with no other guide than the 
stars and a small broken clock that served in place 
of a chronometer ? Captain Slocum received the vol- 
umes with reverence, and used them, as he afterwards 
told me, to his great advantage." 

From his own book. Sailing Alone Around ike World, 
I have taken the following account of his meeting 
with Mrs. Stevenson: 

"The next morning after my arrival, bright and 
early, Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson came to the 
Spray and invited me to visit Vailima the following 
day. I was of course thrilled when I found myself, 
after so many days of adventure, face to face with 
this bright woman, so lately the companion of the 
author whose books had delighted me on the voyage. 
The kindly eyes, that looked me through and through, 
sparkled when we compared notes of adventure. I 
marvelled at some of her experiences and escapes. 
She told me that along with her husband she had 
voyaged in all manner of rickety craft among the 
islands of the Pacific, reflectively adding, 'Our tastes 
were similar.' Following the subject of voyages she 
gave me the four beautiful volumes of sailing direc- 
tories for the Mediterranean, writing on the fly-leaf 
of the first, 'To Captain Slocum. These volumes 
have been read and re-read many times by my hus- 
band, and I am very sure that he would be pleased 
that they should be passed on to the sort of sea-faring 
man that he liked above all others. Fanny V. de G. 
Stevenson.' Mrs. Stevenson also gave me a great 
directory of the Indian Ocean. It was not without 
a feeling of reverential awe that I received the books 



252 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

so nearly directly from the hand of Tusitala, 'who 
sleeps in the forest.' Aolele, the Spray will cherish 
your gift ! 

"On another day the family from Vailima went to 
visit the Spray. The sloop being in the stream, we 
boarded her from the beach abreast, in the little 
razeed Gloucester dory, which had been painted a 
smart green. Our combined weight loaded it gun- 
wale to the water, and I was obliged to steer with 
great care to avoid swamping. The adventure 
pleased Mrs. Stevenson greatly, and as we paddled 
along she sang 'They went to sea in a pea-green 
boat.' I could understand her saying of her husband 
and herself 'Our tastes were similar.' 

"Calling to say good-bye to my friends at Vailima, 
I met Mrs. Stevenson, in her Panama hat, and went 
over the estate with her. Men were at work clearing 
the land, and to one of them she gave an order to 
cut a couple of bamboo trees for the Spray from a 
clump she had planted four years before, and which 
had grown to a height of sixty feet. I used them for 
spare spars, and the butt of one served on the home- 
ward voyage for a jib-boom. 

"After a farewell ava ceremony in Samoan fashion 
at Vailima, the Spray stood out of the harbor August 
20, 1896, and continued on her course. A sense of 
loneliness seized upon me as the islands faded astern, 
and as a remedy for it I crowded on sail for lovely 
Australia, which was not a strange land to me; but for 
long days in my dreams Vailima stood before the 
prow." 

It is sad to know that this brave sailor tempted 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 253 

fate once too often, for he sailed out of New York 
harbor some years ago and was never heard of again. 

Even though their beloved Tusitala was with them 
no more, the Samoans did not forget his widow, and 
they often went to Vailima in bodies to do her honour. 
In a letter to her mother-in-law she describes one of 
these visiting parties : 

"A couple of months ago the Tongan village sent 
to ask if they might come and dance for us on Christ- 
mas. They were the men that considered they be- 
longed particularly to Louis; do you remember my 
telling you how their village was put into mourning 
at the time of his death — in Tongan fashion — for 
three days.^^ And then how they marched up here, 
every man in a new black lavalava, some forty strong, 
to decorate the grave .^^ I did not feel much like 
gaieties, but could not refuse the Tongans. I asked 
Chief Justice Ide, his daughter, and a travelling 
salesman named Campbell to see the dancing. Six 
or eight pretty girls were turned up by our 'poor old 
family' to make the kava, and, though our own boys 
had been given a holiday, we had attendants in 
scores. I had had a turkey roasted and corned beef 
boUed, so that with such things laid out on the side- 
board I could give my guests a sort of picnic meal 
instead of dinner. The Tongans marched up — about 
fifty of them — led by their taupo dressed in a fine mat 
and dancing as she came. She was followed by the 
girls of the village carrying the usual presents on 
poles, and then came the fighting men with blackened 
faces and wearing the dress used in the war dances. 
They were all tall powerful young men, and looked 



254 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

very fierce and magnificent. They manoeuvred while 
on the lawn and then we had the usual business of 
Tcava and orations. The dancing, for which they 
used an ancient war drum, took place in the hall, 
where the Chief Justice and I sat, as you might say, 
on thrones in front of the table, with the other spec- 
tators sitting on the floor around us. The dancing 
was wild and really splendid. When they left, just 
as dusk was falling, we presented them with a full- 
grown pig and two boxes of biscuit. Our boys thought 
Louis's grandfather* should be shown some honor for 
the occasion, so they decorated his bust with a wreath 
cocked over one eye and a big red flower over one ear. 
I never saw anything more incongruous; it was enough 
to make him turn over in his grave." 

Mrs. Stevenson's health improved after her return 
to Samoa, and she and her daughter spent quiet, 
pleasant months together working in the garden, 
walking in the forest, playing chess, reading, and 
sewing, and were both looking forward to the return 
of Mr. Osbourne when the news arrived of the sudden 
death in Edinburgh of Mrs. Thomas Stevenson. It 
was a sad shock to her daughter-in-law, who had 
grown to love Louis's mother dearly, and all the more 
distressing as she was summoned to go at once to 
Scotland to help settle the estate. It now became 
clear that the island home, made dear by a thousand 
tender associations, would have to be abandoned. 
Had Mrs. Stevenson been able to follow out her ovm. 
desires at that time, she would have preferred to 
spend the remainder of her days there, but her son 

* Robert Stevenson, lighthouse engineer. 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD ^55 

and daughter were drawn away perforce by the 
claims of their own famihes — the education of their 
children, etc. — and it was impossible for her to live 
there alone. So, with a tearing of heartstrings more 
easily imagined than described, she began to make 
preparations to leave the place for ever. 

The first thing was to choose from their belongings 
suitable gifts for the dear friends that were to be left 
behind. Two young chiefs, one their host at the 
malaga to Vaiee, were taken to the tool room and 
told to choose what they wanted. One took an im- 
mense steel gouge which he said would be grand for 
making canoes. Another young chief fell heir to the 
tennis outfit (he had learned the game from Lloyd 
Osbourne), and went proudly off to set it up in his 
village. To old Seumanutafa, high chief of Apia, 
Mrs. Stevenson gave a four-poster bedstead, with 
mattress and pillows complete, in which one may 
imagine that he slept more imposingly but less rest- 
fully than on his own native mats. This chief was 
the man who saved so many lives at the time of the 
great hurricane, when the men-of-war were lost, 
that the United States Government sent him, in 
appreciation, a fine whale boat and a gold watch with 
an inscription in the case. As he had no pockets in 
his native costume, he wore a leather belt with a 
pouch in it for the watch, usually wearing it next to 
his bare brown body. 

To the friend and neighbour, Mr. Caruthers, were 
given some framed oil-paintings, and he returned the 
compliment by offering to take Jack, IMrs. Stevenson's 
pony, and give him the best of care as long as he 



256 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

lived, promising that no one should ever ride him. 
To a Danish baker named Hellesoe, who had always 
sent up a huge cake with his compliments on Mr. 
Stevenson's birthday, was given a wonderful arm- 
chair made entirely of beadwork put on by hand and 
trimmed with fringe and coloured flowers. Having 
seen the little sitting-room over the bakeshop, they 
were sure the chair would fit in beautifully there. 

It was a busy time when they packed up to leave 
Samoa. They had no real help, for none of the 
Samoans knew how to pack, though they helped in 
making boxes and lifting and carrying. The two 
women sorted, wrapped, and packed all the books of 
the large library, besides the Chippendale furniture 
that came from Scotland, and some antiques, includ- 
ing old carved cabinets dating back to 1642. After 
everything of value had been packed, there were still 
many odds and ends — ^glassware and such articles — 
which were left behind with the intention of sending 
for them later. Eventually the plan was changed 
and the things were given to Mr. Gurr, with whom 
the key of the house had been left. This explains 
why so many glass bowls, etc., were bought by tour- 
ists at Apia, and how every odd pen that was found 
was sold as Mr. Stevenson's own and original. It 
was then that Mrs. Stevenson's diary, to which I have 
already alluded, was overlooked in the packing, only 
to turn up years afterwards in London. 

It was a genuine grief to Mrs. Stevenson to sell 
Vailima, but, in order to retain it she would have 
had to keep a force of men there constantly at work 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 257 

"fighting the forest," which, if left alone for a short 
time, speedily envelops and smothers everything in 
its path. If even so much as an old tin can is thrown 
out on the ground tropic nature at once proceeds to 
get rid of the defacement, and in a few days it will 
be covered with creepers. So, with many a pang of 
regret, the place was finally sold — with the reserva- 
tion of the summit of Vaea where the tomb stands — 
to a Russian merchant named Kunst. He lived there 
for some time and at his death his heirs sold it to the 
German Government, which purchased it as a resi- 
dence for the German governor of Samoa. So the 
flag of Germany flew over Vailima imtil the New 
Zealand expeditionary force landed and took over the 
islands for Great Britain, when the Union Jack was 
run up. The natives said that England came to 
Tusitala, since he could not go to her, and when his 
own country's flag blew out in the breeze over his old 
home one could almost fancy that his spirit looked 
down and rejoiced. Since then it has been used as 
the British Government House, and at present the 
English administrator lives there with his wife and 
aides. Many changes and enlargements have been 
made in it since it was the home of Tusitala. The 
Germans cut a new road to Vailima from the high- 
way, and the Road of the Loving Hearts, which origi- 
nally led to the house, now leads to the burial place 
of the man for whom the grateful chiefs built it long 
ago. 

All was now ready for their departure, and their 
native friends gathered from far and wide to take 



258 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

part in what was for them an event of mournful sig- 
nificance. Tusitala's widow was not permitted to go 
out to the waiting vessel in the ordinary boat, but 
was taken by the high chief Seumanutafa in the cut- 
ter that had been given him by the United States 
Government. The awning had been put up over it 
and it was all trimmed for the occasion in ferns and 
flowers. Crowds of Samoan friends — Fanua (Mrs. 
Gurr), Laulii (Mrs. Willis), Tamasese, Amatua, Tu- 
pua, Tautala, the Vailima household, and many 
others, were there in boats, also trimmed with ferns 
and flowers, to see them off. All went on board and 
were taken into the cabin, where they were treated 
to bottled lemonade with ice in the glasses, at which 
they marvelled greatly. Though they realized that 
the woman who had done so much for them in the 
few 3'ears of her residence among them — who had 
tended them in sickness and sjmipathized with them 
in sorrow — was about to leave them for ever, they 
made a strong effort not to cloud her departure with 
demonstrations of grief, and it was only when she 
took farewell of Sosimo, the man who had been her 
beloved husband's body servant at Vailima, that they 
gave signs of breaking down. All had brought pres- 
ents, and Mrs. Stevenson and her daughter stood on 
the deck wreathed in flowers, surrounded by baskets 
of pineapples, oranges, bananas, and other fruits. 
Each departing friend, after kissing their hands, added 
something to the pile of gifts — Samoan fans, seed 
and shell necklaces, rolls of tapa, and native woven 
baskets, and the two ladies had all the fingers of both 



THE LONELY DAYS OF WIDOWHOOD 259 

hands adorned with Samoan tortoise-shell rings. As 
the ship steamed away the Httle flotilla of boats, 
looking like green bouquets on the water, followed 
them for some distance, the boatmen singing as they 
rowed the farewell song of the islands, To-fa mijeleni 
(good-bye, my friend). 



CHAPTER X 
BACK TO CALIFORNIA 

For six months or more before Mrs. Stevenson's 
departure for England in 1898, she had been suffering 
severely from an illness which finally necessitated a 
surgical operation. This operation, which was a very 
critical one and brought her within the valley of the 
shadow for a time, was performed in London by Sir 
Frederick Treves, the noted surgeon and physician to 
the King. Treves asked no fee, saying that he con- 
sidered it a privilege to give this service to the widow 
of Stevenson. 

While the family were in Dorking, where they had 
taken a house for the summer, Mrs. Strong received 
a letter of sympathy from Mrs. Stevenson's old friend, 
Henry James, which is so characteristic that I am 
impelled to quote it : 

"Dear Mrs. Strong: 

"I have been meaning each day to write to you 
again and tell you how much, in these days, I am 
with you in thought. I can't sufficiently rejoice that 
you are out of town in this fearful heat, which the 
air of London, as thick as the wit of some of its in- 
habitants, must now render peculiarly damnable. I 
rejoice, too, that you have, like myself, an old house 

260 



BACK TO CALIFORNIA 261 

in a pretty old town and an old garden with pleasant 
old flowers. Further, I jubilate that you are within 
decent distance of dear old George Meredith, whom 
I tenderly love and venerate. But after that, I fear 
my jubilation ceases. I deeply regret the turn your 
mother's health has taken has not been, as it so utterly 
ought to be, the right one. But if it has determined 
the prospect of the operation, which is to afford her 
relief, I hope with all my heart that it will end by 
presenting itself to you as 'a blessing in disguise.* 
No doubt she would have preferred a good deal less 
disguise, but, after all, we have to take things as 
they come, and I throw myself into the deep comfort 
of gratitude that her situation has overtaken her in 
this country, where every perfect ministration will 
surround her, rather than in your far-off insular abyss 
of mere — so to speak — picturesqueness. I should 
have been, in that case, at the present writing, in a 
fidget too fierce for endurance, whereas I now can 
prattle to you quite balmily; for which you are all, 
no doubt, deeply grateful. Give her, please, my ten- 
der love, and say to her that if London were actually 
at all accessible to me, I should dash down to her 
thence without delay, and thrust myself as far as 
would be good for any of you into your innermost 
concerns. This would be more possible to me later 
on if you should still be remaining awhile at Dorking 
— and, at any rate, please be sure that I shall manage 
to see you the first moment I am able to break with 
the complications that, for the time, forbid me even 
a day's absence from this place. I repeat that it 
eases my spirit immensely that you have exchanged 



262 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

the planet Saturn — or whichever it is that's the fur- 
thest — for this terrestrial globe. In short, between 
this and October, many things may happen, and 
among them my j&nding the right moment to drop on 
you. I hope all the rest of you thrive and rusticate, 
and I feel awfully set up with your being, after your 
tropic isle, at all tolerant of the hollyhocks and other 
garden produce of my adopted home. I am extremely 
busy trying to get on with a belated serial — an effort 
in which each hour has its hideous value. That is 
really all my present history — but to you all it will 
mean much, for you too have lived in Arcadia ! I 
embrace you fondly, if you will kindly permit it — 
every one; beginning with the Babe, so as to give me 
proper presumption, and working my way steadily up. 
Good-bye till soon again. 

"Yours, my dear Teuila, very constantly, 

*' Henry James." 

Except for this unfortunate illness the family spent 
a pleasant summer in England, In a little cottage sur- 
rounded by an old-fashioned garden near Burford. 

One of the purposes of this visit to England was 
Mrs. Stevenson's desire to carry out one of her hus- 
band's last requests. In a letter not to be opened 
until after his death he asked that, if the arrange- 
ments already made for the writing and publication 
of his biography by Sidney Colvin should not have 
been carried out within four years, it should be placed 
in the hands of some other person. As the four years 
had elapsed and nothing had been done in the mat- 
ter, it was decided that Graham Balfour, Stevenson's 




Frovi a photograph by Hollinger, London 

Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson 



BACK TO CALIFORNIA 263 

cousin and devoted friend, should undertake the task ; 
and when Mrs. Stevenson had partially recovered 
from her Illness she removed to the Balfour residence 
and gave her assistance for some time In laying out 
the plans for the book. 

Her convalescence was very slow, and, finding the 
damp chmate of England unfavourable, she finally 
decided to move to the Island of Madeira for rest and 
recuperation. Accompanied by her son and his 
family, her daughter having left for New York City 
to join her son, Austin Strong, she travelled by slow 
stages through France, Spain, and Portugal, reaching 
Madeira In the early part of December, 1898. From 
Lisbon they sailed In a filthy little Portuguese steamer, 
freighted with hay and kerosene, and the passengers. 
In utter disregard of the Inflammable nature of the 
cargo, scattered cigarette ends and lighted matches 
all over the ship. However, a kind Providence car- 
ried them to port without accident. 

After a most uncomfortable voyage of two days 
and nights they drew into the beautiful bay of Fun- 
chal, with Its curving shore and background of lofty 
mountains. The quintas, or country-houses, each 
surrounded by a terraced garden and vineyard, which 
dotted the slopes, gave a cheerful air to the land- 
scape. Mrs, Stevenson speaks of it as the "most 
picturesque place" she ever saw, and she had seen 
many of the beauty spots of the world. 

In a letter to her daughter written from here she 
says: "My plans are vague. The years ahead of me 
seem like large empty rooms, with high ceilings and 
echoes. Not gay, say you, but I was never one for 



264 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

gaiety much — and I may discover a certain grandeur 
in the emptiness." 

When at last her strength seemed equal to the long 
journey, she once more turned her face towards the 
setting sun, and beautiful California. On the way a 
flying stop was made in Indiana to see relatives and 
friends of her girlhood. Speaking of them she says, 
"I saw my old friends, the Fletchers. They came to 
see me in droves, and it was strange to see them old 
men and women, talking of their grandchildren. It 
seems so difficult to realize that one's self is old; in- 
deed, I don't believe I ever shall." While in Indian- 
apolis she met for the first time her distinguished 
compatriot, James Whitcomb Riley, who afterwards 
wrote to her recalling the occasion of their meeting 
in his own gentle, kindly way. I quote the letter; 

"Indianapolis, Christmas, 1900. 
"Deab Mrs. Stevenson: 

"Since your brief visit here last winter I've been 
remembering you and your kindness every day, and 
in fancy have written down — hundreds of times — 
my thanks to you and yours — once, when first well 
enough to get down-town, wrapping a photograph 
for you of the very well man I used to be. Finding 
the portrait this Christmas morning, I someway 
think it good-omenish, and so send you the long- 
belated thing, together with a copy of a recent book 
in which are most affectionally set some old and 
some new lines of tribute to the dear man who is 
just away. How I loved him through his lovely art I 
And how I loved all he loved and yet loves — for with 



BACK TO CALIFORNIA 265 

both heart and soul, and tears and smiles, he seems 
very near at hand. Therefore my very gentlest 
greetings on this blessed day go out to him as to you. 
"Fraternally, 

"James Whitcomb Riley."* 

Mrs. Stevenson wished to live within sight of the 
Pacific Ocean, so she purchased a lot at the corner 
of Hyde and Lombard Streets, on the very top of one 
of San Francisco's famous hills, and at once began 
the building of her house, living meanwhile for a time 
on Belvedere Island and later at 2751 Broadway. 
The creation of a new thing — whether it might be a 
dress, a surprise dish for the table, a garden or a 
house, always appealed strongly to her, and as she 
plunged eagerly into the business of planning and 
discussing with architects and contractors, her inter- 
est in life rose again. As she remarked, "It is awfully 
exciting to build a house." Mr. WilHs Polk was the 
architect, but he followed her design, which she made 
by building a httle house out of match-boxes on the 
corner of a table. The house was rather unusual in 
its plan, flat-roofed, and with architecture somewhat 
"on the Mexican order," as the contractor said. It 
fitted in well with the landscape and gave one a feel- 
ing of home comfort and cheer within. She herself 
said it was "like a fort on a cliff." Hidden from the 
street by a high retaining wall and a colonnade em- 
bowered in vines was a beautiful garden where she 
gradually collected rare plants from various parts of 
the world. A wide stretch of emerald lawn filled the 

* Quoted by courtesy of Mr. Edmund Eitel, nephew of Mr. Riley. 



266 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

centre, and around its borders were massed flowering 
shrubs and small trees — low-growing varieties pur- 
posely chosen in order not to hide the sea view from 
the windows. Here a climbing syringa brought from 
the romantic Borda gardens in Mexico, where the 
sad Empress Carlota used to walk, flung out its ten- 
drils gaily to the salt sea breeze, and seemed never to 
miss the kindlier sun of its former home. At one 
side there was a small cemented pool, the birds' 
drinking-place, where many of the little creatures 
came to dip their bills and trill their morning songs. 
In this quiet scented garden, kept safe from intruding 
eyes on all sides by vine-covered walls and shrubbery, 
one might sit and dream, reminded of the outside 
world only by the clanging of a street-car bell or the 
distant whistle of an ocean steamer. 

Within the walls of this house were a thousand 
objects gathered in her wanderings in all sorts of 
strange places, but the greatest attraction was the 
magnificent outlook over sea and land afforded by its 
commanding position. From the flat roof one looked 
down on one side upon the picturesque city, with its 
many hills and steeply climbing streets, all a-glitter 
at night with a million twinkling lights, and on the 
other upon the great sparkling expanse of the bay, 
alive with craft of every sort, from the great ocean 
steamer just in from the Orient to the tiny fisher 
boats, with their lateen sails, returning with their 
day's catch from outside the "Heads." From the 
drawing-room windows one could see the winking 
eye of Alcatraz Island, grim rocky guardian of the 
Golden Gate, and all the ships of the Pacific fleets 



BACK TO CALIFORNIA 267 

making their slow way in to their docking places. 
How often must she have looked out upon those re- 
turning wanderers of the deep and thought with a 
tender sadness of that day in the treasured past when 
the Silver Ship sailed away with her and her beloved 
towards the enchanted isles ! 

Once she stood watching from these windows for 
the transport that was coming in with soldiers from 
the Philippines, among whom was her nephew, Ed- 
ward Orr. As the ship hove in sight she sent her 
grandson flying to the roof to wave a welcome with 
a large flag, and almost the first thing the homesick 
young soldier saw as he turned eager eyes shorewards 
was the fluttering banner high on the house-top on 
the hill. Having nothing else convenient with which 
to return the salute, he and his mates snatched a 
sheet from a bunk and waved it from a porthole. 
Meanwhile Mrs. Stevenson had despatched her son 
to hire a launch and take the mother and sisters of 
her nephew out to meet him, and as soon as the sea- 
worn and tired young soldiers had landed at the 
Presidio she sent out baskets of fruit and bottles of 
milk for their refreshment. 

Island memories were always dear to her, and 
when one day she heard that a ship had come into 
port manned with sailors from Samoa, she at once 
sent to the dock and invited them all to call on her. 
Soon the dark-skinned, picturesque troop, shy but 
proud of the attention shown them by Tusitala's 
widow, arrived. The ava bowl was brought out and 
placed before them as they sat cross-legged on the 
floor in a semi-circle, and after the brewing of the 



268 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

ava it was drunk with all the proper ceremonies of 
speech-making and exchanges of compliments. Mr. 
Carmichael Carr, who, with his mother, the well- 
known singer, was one of the visitors that day, writes: 
"I have a wonderfully clear picture of the reception 
Mrs. Stevenson gave and the South Sea men she had 
gathered around her — their strange appearance and 
incantations and the peculiar drink they brewed." 

At the Hyde Street house she received many dis- 
tinguished people — actors, writers, singers, and even 
royalties. There Henry James, S. S. McClure, David 
Bispham, William Faversham and his wife, ex- 
Queen Liliuokalani and a hundred others went to 
pay her their respects. It was at a reception she was 
giving to Liliuokalani — which, by the way, she gave 
in the hope of arousing favourable interest in the 
Queen's mission to Washington to seek justice — that 
she first met David Bispham, and first heard him 
sing, too, in a rather unusual way. Some one — I 
think it was Gelett Burgess — said to the Queen, "Will 
your Majesty please issue a royal command? We 
have never heard one." Whereupon her Majesty 
pointed her finger at Bispham and said, "The bard is 
commanded to sing ! " 

When the Stevenson Society of San Francisco held 
their yearly meetings of commemoration on Louis's 
birthday she was the honoured guest, and it was char- 
acteristic of her to remember to invite his old friend, 
Jules Simoneau of Monterey, for these occasions. 
When she first asked the old man to come he shrugged 
his shoulders and said: "What! Will you take me 
to see your fine friends in this old blouse ? I have no 



BACK TO CALIFORNIA 269 

other clothes." "Your clothes are nothing," she 
replied. "All that matters to me is that you were 
my husband's dear friend." So he went, and was 
entertained in her house with as much consideration 
as though he had been a prince of the blood. On the 
evening of the dinner given by the Society at the old 
restaurant which had once been frequented by Steven- 
son, she took Simoneau in her carriage, and when a 
fashionable young lady in her party objected to this 
arrangement she was rebuked by being sent home in 
a street-car. 

Among other public functions to which she was 
invited to do her honour as the widow of Stevenson 
was a banquet given by the St. Andrews Society, 
which included nearly all the Scotchmen in San 
Francisco. In conversation with three of them she 
remarked that she had the sugar bowl from which 
Bobby Burns had sweetened his toddy when he went 
to see Robert Stevenson,* and, after inviting them to 
call, promised to mix a toddy for them and sweeten 
it from the same historic sugar bowl. About a week 
later the three appeared, exceedingly Scotch in their 
long black coats and silk hats, and each carrying a 
formal bouquet. They had a delightful time, drink- 
ing their toddy, which was duly sweetened from the 
hallowed bowl, and reciting Bums's poems to her in 
such broad Scotch that she could not understand a 
word of it. But she loved the sound of it all the 
same. 

It was soon after her return to San Francisco that 
Mrs. Stevenson interested herself in the story of a 

* Robert Louis Stevenson's grandfather. 



270 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

half-caste Samoan girl, a sort of modern Cinderella, 
of whom she had heard before leaving the islands. 
This girl, who was an orphan, had been left a fortune 
in lands and money in Samoa by her American father, 
and when she was five years of age had been sent to 
San Francisco by her guardian to be educated. 
There, through a combination of circumstances, she 
disappeared, and her property in Samoa lay un- 
claimed, while the rents went to the benefit of others. 
When Mrs. Stevenson heard of this she determined 
to make a search for the girl, and as soon as she 
reached San Francisco set out to do so. After the 
rounds of all the private schools and seminaries had 
been made without success, her friend. Miss Chismore, 
thought of trying the charity orphan asylums, and in 
one of these, a Catholic convent school for orphans, 
she found a girl bearing a somewhat similar name to 
the lost one. Mrs. Stevenson, taking with her a 
Samoan basket and some shells, immediately went 
out to see her. At the school a small, dark, shy girl 
was brought by the sisters into the visitors' room, 
and at sight of the Samoan basket she gave a joyful 
cry of recognition. The long-lost heiress was found, 
living as a pauper in a charity school ! The difficulty 
then was to prove her claim to the property and secure 
it for her. In her determination to do this Mrs. 
Stevenson went to Washington, where, after seeing 
senators, priests of the Catholic Church, and other 
persons in authority, she finally succeeded in having 
the girl's lands, with some of the back rents, restored 
to her. All this was lilce a fairy story to the kind 
sisters at the convent, and their joy was unbounded 



BACK TO CALIFORNIA 271 

at seeing tlieir little pauper pupil thus romantically 
transformed into the rich princess. Meanwhile Mrs. 
Stevenson invited the young lady to her house, gave 
a party in her honour, helped her buy clothing suitable 
to her new station, and, when the time came for her 
triumphant departure to claim her island possessions, 
went to see her off on the steamer. As long as this 
little Cinderella lived she never forgot the fairy god- 
mother who had worked this wonderful change in her 
life. 

It was during this period that the regrettable inci- 
dent of Mr. Henley's attack on the memory of Ste- 
venson occurred — an incident that attracted a great 
deal more attention in England than in America, 
where it was forgotten almost as soon as it hap- 
pened. Mrs. Stevenson herself always ascribed this 
strange act on the part of her husband's old friend to 
his state of health, which had never been good and 
was rapidly growing worse; and, because she believed 
he had become embittered by his misfortunes, she 
bore no rancour. In referring to it she repeated one 
of her favourite sayings, "To know all is to forgive 
all," and when, after Mr. Henley's death, his widow 
wrote to her asking for letters to be published in his 
"life," she sent them with a kind and affectionate note. 

While the house in San Francisco was building, 
Mrs. Stevenson went away for a time, accompanied 
only by her maid, for a camping trip in the Santa 
Cruz Mountains, down among the redwoods. The 
delights of the place where they camped, in a shady 
little valley about ten miles from Gilroy, soon won 
her heart completely, and she decided to purchase a 



272 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

small ranch there for a permanent summer home. 
For the first season she lived there in true campers* 
fashion, which she describes in a letter to her daugh- 
ter: "At the ranch I have one tent with a curtain in 
the middle. We sleep on one side of the curtain and 
sit on the other. I have only the most primitive 
facilities for cooking, and the butcher is twelve miles 
away over a mountain road. He is anything but 
dependable, and when I send for a piece of roast beef 
I may get a soup bone of veal, or a small bit of liver, 
or a side of breakfast bacon, which I keep hung in a 
tree. I cannot keep flour on a tree, so am dependent 
on the boarding-house [a small summer resort about 
a quarter of a mile distant] for my bread, and if they 
are short I have no bread. If I find I lack something 
essential I have to spend a whole day driving to town 
through the deep dust to get it. But of course I am 
going to do all kinds of things by and by." The 
truth was that this sort of life was exactly to her 
taste, and the wilder and rougher it was the better it 
suited her. She was always, to the end of her days, 
the pioneer woman, and the greensward of the woods 
went better to her feet than carpeted halls. 

Afterwards tents were put up for the accommoda- 
tion of her family, and every spring, after the rains 
were over, they all moved down to take up a delight- 
ful out-of-door life such as can scarcely be enjoyed 
anywhere in the world except in California. Cooking 
was done in the open air, and meals were taken at a 
long table spread in a deep glen, where the trees were 
so thick that it was pleasantly cool even on the hot- 
test days. 



BACK TO CALIFORNIA 273 

As time went on the mistress of this sylvan para- 
dise grew more and more attached to it, and she at 
length decided to build more permanent quarters. 
First of all, she made a model of a house out of match 
boxes, with pebbles for the foundation wall, all glued 
together, painted and complete. Then she hired a 
country carpenter and built her house — a pleasant 
httle dwelling, with a wide veranda extending in coun- 
try fashion around two sides of it. 

In building the foundation wall boulders from the 
stream were used, and many were found bearing bold 
imprints of fossU ferns, birds, and snakes. Mrs. 
Stevenson was delighted to have these reminders of 
a past age for her wall, but, alas, during her absence 
the stones were all cemented in place with the nice 
smooth sides outward and the fossils turned inward. 

Although it was so different from the tropic island 
that had now become but a tender memory, yet there 
was much about this place that recalled Vailima days 
— the sweet seclusion, the rich greenery all about, the 
music of the little tinkling stream, and, above all, the 
morning song of the multitudes of birds. It was for 
this, and perhaps to make a link between her Cali- 
fornia home and that other far across the wide Pacific 
that she chose to call the little ranch in the Santa 
Cruz Mountains Vanumanutagi, vale of the singing 
birds. 

At Vanumanutagi Mrs. Stevenson led a simple life, 
spending most of her time out-of-doors and occupying 
herseK with plans for the planting and improvement 
of the land. The house was simply furnished, and 
the country people were charmed with the gay chintz 



274 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

and bright wall-paper, the brick fireplace, and the 
general appropriateness of it all. As it was not large, 
tents were put up for the family and guests to sleep in. 

Even this peaceful spot had its excitements, for in 
the autumn, when the undergrowth everywhere was 
as dry as tinder, its quiet was sometimes disturbed 
by the outbreak of California's summer terror— forest- 
fires. One of the worst of these happened when Mrs. 
Stevenson was at the ranch with only her sister 
Elizabeth* and a maid. It came suddenly, and the 
first they knew of it was the sight of what they took 
to be sea fog, rolling and tumbling ovejr the tops of 
the hills. They soon knew it for what it was when 
it came pouring down into the valley and they began 
to choke with its acrid smell. Presently horsemen 
came galloping by on their way to warn ranchers of 
the fire, and every little while a man would come out 
and report the progress made in checking it. It was 
an oppressive, hidden danger, for nothing could be 
seen from the valley of the actual flames through the 
thick suffocating curtain of smoke that hung over all. 
The only avenue of escape was by way of the road to 
Gilroy, and the fire threatened momentarily to cut 
this off. Not wishing to abandon the place to its 
fate, Mrs. Stevenson thought out a plan for saving 
their lives in the last emergency by wrapping up in 
wet blankets and crouching in a sort of hole or low 
place in an open field near the house. Fortunately 
the fire was stopped before this became necessary. 

It was while she was living at the ranch that Mrs. 
Stevenson began to write the introductions to her 

* The late Mrs. E. E. Mitchell, of Nebraska City, Nebraska. 



BACK TO CALIFORNIA 275 

husband's works in the biographical edition brought 
out by Charles Scribner's Sons. As she had but a 
modest opinion of her abilities, she undertook this 
work with the greatest reluctance, and in a letter to 
Mr. Scribner she remarks, "It appalls me to think of 
my temerity in writing these introductions." Yet I 
believe that everyone who reads them will feel that 
a new and personal interest has been added to each 
one of his books by her graphic story of the circum- 
stances of its writing. 

Among the best loved of the infrequent guests who 
braved the long, hot, dusty drive from Gilroy to the 
ranch was the young California writer, Frank Norris. 
During his visits there Mrs. Stevenson became much 
attached to him, and he in turn was so charmed with 
the place and the life that he determined to buy a 
ranch in the neighbourhood. As I have already said, 
when an opportunity offered he bought the Douglas 
Sanders place, Quien Sabe Rancho, intending to spend 
all his summers there. Writing to Mrs. Stevenson 
about his plans in his gay boyish fashion, he says : 

"My dear Mrs. Stevenson: 

"This is to tell you that our famous round-the- 
world trip has been curtailed to a modest little excur- 
sion Samoa- wards and back, or mebbe we get as far 
as Sydney. We wont go to France, but will come to 
Quien Sabe m February— FEBRUARY ! We find in 
figuring up our stubs that we have a whole lot more 
money than we thought, but the blame stuff has got 
to be transferred from our New York bank to here, 
which (because we went about it wrong in the first 



276 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

place), can't be done for another two weeks. We 
will make the first payment on Quien Sabe before 
October 1st— $250. Will you ask Lloyd to let us 
know — or I mean to bear us in mind — if he hears of 
a horse for sale so we could buy the beast when we 
come up next February. Meanwhile will keep you 
informed as to 'lightning change' programme we are 
giving these days. 

"Ever thine (I've clean forgot me nyme)." 

The Norris cabin stands high on the mountain 
slope, and is reached by a steep winding road leading 
up from Vanumanutagi Ranch. 

To this ideal spot, this secluded little lodge in the 
wilderness, Frank Norris hoped to bring his wife and 
little daughter and spend many happy and fruitful 
summers. Here he intended to work on the last 
volume of his series of the wheat trilogy — the story 
of the hunger of the people, which was to be called 
by the appropriate name of The Wolf. His joy in 
his new purchase was unbounded, and many improve- 
ments to the cabin and ranch were projected. In all 
these plans Mrs. Stevenson took a more than neigh- 
bourly interest, for she spent time and money in help- 
ing to make the place comfortable and attractive. 
Among other things she built a curbing around the 
well, using for the purpose boulders from the inex- 
haustible supply in the bed of the stream, and, to 
have all complete, even sent to Boston for a real 
"old oaken bucket." At just the right intervals 
along the steep road to the cabin, measured off by 



BACK TO CALIFORNIA 277 

her own indefatigable feet, she placed rustic seats, 
where the tired climber might rest. 

But alas ! All these pleasing hopes came to naught, 
for within a short time after buying the ranch sudden 
death cut him off in the flower of his youth and the 
first unfolding of his genius. This was a sad blow 
to Mrs. Stevenson, for she had become much attached 
to the brilliant and lovable young writer. Sometime 
afterwards she thought of putting up a memorial to 
him on the little ranch where he had hoped to spend 
many happy years. Having decided that it should 
take the form of a stone seat, bearing a suitable in- 
scription, she went to work in conjunction with 
Gelett Burgess to make the design. The site chosen 
for the seat is upon a small level spot a few yards 
below the cabin, at the side of the winding road lead- 
ing up from the Stevenson ranch. In carrying out 
this project she took a melancholy pleasure, as she 
writes in a letter to Mr. Charles Scribner, dated 1902: 
"I am building a memorial seat to poor Frank Norris. 
With the assistance of a couple of men I have gathered 
a lot of boulders from the bed of a stream, and from 
these we have fashioned a bench to hold six or eight 
people, and set it where the view is glorious. I have 
helped lay the stones, and have dabbled in mortar 
until I can hardly use my hands to write. This sort 
of work is so much more interesting than scratching 
with a pen. In the joy of even so poor a creation I 
forget the sad purpose of it, and am as happy as one 
hopes to be who has lived as long as I." 

Before these two friends — he in the springtime of 



278 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

his days, she in the mellow autumn of maturity — 
passed away, they were persuaded to record their 
voices in a phonograph, but it was a useless effort, 
for no one who loved them has ever been able to 
endure to listen to their spirit voices, as it were, speak- 
ing from the other world. 



CHAPTER XI 
TRAVELS IN MEXICO AND EUROPE 

Eight years, divided between the house "like a fort 
on a diff" in San Francisco and the sylvan solitude 
of the little ranch tucked away in its corner in the 
mountains of the Holy Cross, slipped by happily 
enough. Now and again the wandering mood came 
back, but, except for one visit to France and Eng- 
land, Mrs. Stevenson confined her journey ings to the 
American continent. 

One of these excursions led her to Mexico — a 
country that she found more interesting than any 
she had ever visited in Europe. Sometimes I think 
this may have been because of some primitive ele- 
ment in her own nature that responded to the tradi- 
tions of that strange land — so aged in history, so 
young in civilization — but, anyway, she told me that 
she felt a genuine thrill there such as she had never 
experienced in any of the historic places of the Old 
World. At the tomb of Napoleon she remained cold, 
but at the "tree of the sad night," where Cortes is 
said to have wept bitter tears on that dark and rainy 
night away back in 1520, her imagination was deeply 
touched. At the church of Guadalupe she looked at 
the pitifully crude paintings and other thank-offerings 
of the simple devotees with deep and sympathetic 
interest. 

279 



280 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

Much more interesting than the city of Mexico 
she found the quaint and ancient town of Cuernavaca, 
where Maximilian was wont to come with his Em- 
press to enjoy the dehghts of the famous Borda Gar- 
dens. These gardens, though fallen from their first 
high estate, were still very beautiful at the time of 
Mrs. Stevenson's visit. 

Of these pleasant days in Cuernavaca she writes 
in a letter to her daughter: 

"I have a little plant from the garden where Car- 
lota lived, which I think is a climbing syringa. We 
go round nearly every evening to the palace built by 
Cortes, in one room of which he strangled one of his 
mistresses. ... I had always supposed MaximiUan 
to be a most exemplary person, but he seems to have 
lived in a palace some three miles from here with a 
beautiful Mexican girl, while poor Carlota was left 
alone in town in the Borda Gardens. . . . Every- 
body goes barefoot here, though all dressed up other- 
wise, and everybody wears the rebozo* This morn- 
ing I killed a scorpion on the wall alongside the bed, 
and the other day I also assisted in the killing of a 
tremendous tarantula in the middle of the road. We 
stood far off and threw stones at it. None of mine 
hit the mark, but I threw like mad. ... I hope 
you were not frightened by the news of the earth- 
quake here. We got a good shake but no harm done. 
Just a little south of us there has been terrible dam- 
age — a whole town destroyed and people killed. 
Here all the people ran into the streets, and kneeling, 
held out their hands towards the churches that con- 

* The rebozo is a scarf or shawl worn wound about the head and shoulders. 



TRAVELS IN MEXICO AND EUROPE 281 

tain their miraculous images. . . . We have had a 
'blessing of the animals' at the cathedral, where cats, 
dogs, eagles, doves, cocks and hens, horses, colts, 
donkeys, cows and bulls, dyed every color of the 
rainbow and wearing wreaths of artificial flowers 
round their necks, were brought to receive this sacra- 
ment. I wanted to take Burney [her little Scotch 
terrier], but feared his getting some contagion, so 
gave it up, and now my Burney has forever lost the 
chance of becoming a holy, blessed dog. . . . The 
native people here are very abject, and seem almost 
entirely without intellect; yet they are the only ser- 
vants to be had unless one sends to California, and 
they make life a desperate business. The only spirit 
I have seen in any of them was to-day, when a native 
policeman tried to get up a fight between his own 
huge dog and my little Burney. Of course Burney 
the valiant was ready for the fray and would prob- 
ably have disposed of the big dog had I not run up, 
closing and clubbing my parasol as I came. The 
policeman thought I was going to strike him, and for 
one second stood up to me fiercely, saying 'No Senor- 
ita ! No Sefiorita ! ' Then his knees suddenly gave 
way and he and his dog and his friend who was stand- 
ing by to see fair play utterly collapsed." 

Steeped as the country was in old tradition, and 
far removed as it seemed from all knowledge of the 
outside world, the name of Robert Louis Stevenson 
had penetrated to its inmost recesses, and its people 
were pleased to bestow honour upon his widow Writ- 
ing of this she says: "I want to tell you that at every 
little lost place on the road I have received extra 



282 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

attention because of my name. In this house I have 
the best room, the landlord himseK giving it up to 
me. I hope Louis knows this." 

The little plant of which she spoke, the climbing 
syringa, which was given to her as a special favour by 
the man in charge of the Bprda Gardens, reached 
San Francisco in good condition and took most kindly 
to its new home. Slips of it were given to friends, 
and its sweet flowers, reminiscent of the ill-fated 
queen who once breathed their perfume, now scent 
the air in more than one garden round San Francisco 
Bay. 

It was not long after her return from this trip to 
Mexico that Mrs. Stevenson began to be troubled 
with a bronchial affection that increased as she ad- 
vanced in years and made it necessary for her to seek 
a frequent change from the cool climate of San Fran- 
cisco. In November of 1904 a severe cough from 
which she was suffering led her southward. This 
time she was accompanied by Salisbury Field, the 
son of her old friend and schoolmate of Indiana days, 
Sarah Hubbard Field. Mr. Field had now become a 
member of Mrs. Stevenson's household, and at a 
later date married her daughter, Isobel Osbourne 
Strong. 

Arriving at La Jolla by the sea, a most picturesque 
spot on the southern coast of California, they were 
disappointed in not finding it as warm as they had 
expected, so it was decided to go further south. In 
the course of their inquiries at San Diego they met a 
Western miner named George Brown, who told them 
stories of a lonely desert island off the coast of Lower 



TRAVELS IN MEXICO AND EUROPE 283 

California, where he was about to open a copper-mine 
for the company for which he was general manager. 
The more he talked of this lonesome isle and of how 
barren and desolate it was the more Mrs. Stevenson 
was fascinated with it, and when he finally invited 
them, in true Western fashion, to accompany him 
thither, she joyfully accepted. In the early part of 
January she took passage with her little party, con- 
sisting of herself, Mr. Field, and her maid, on the 
small steamer St. Denis, which was sailing from San 
Diego and making port at Ensenada and San Quintin 
on the way to Cedros Island. 

At the island the Stevenson party was offered the 
large company house of ten rooms by Mr. Brown, 
but preferred to live in a little whitewashed cottage 
that stood on the beach. Except for the Mexican 
families of the mine workmen there were no women 
on the island besides Mrs. Stevenson and her maid. 
The small circle of Americans soon became intimately 
acquainted, for the lack of other society and interests 
naturally drew them close together. Besides George 
Brown, Clarence Beall, and Doctor Chamberlain, the 
company doctor, there was only a queer old character 
known as "Chips," a stranded sea carpenter who 
was employed to build lighters on the beach. 

Mrs. Stevenson had all of Kipling's fondness for 
mining men, engineers — all that great class of work- 
ers, in fact, who harness the elements of earth and 
air and bend them to man's will — and she was very 
happy on this lonely island with no society outside 
of her own party but that of the few employed at 
the mine. Between her and Mr. Beall, a yonng 



284 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

mining engineer employed on the island, a strong 
and lasting bond of friendship was established from 
the moment of their first meeting, when she saw him 
wet and cold from a hard day of loading ship through 
the surf and insisted on *' mothering " him to the 
extent of seeing that he had dry clothing and other 
comforts. And, although the difference between the 
green tropic isle beyond the sunset which lay enshrined 
in her memory and this barren cactus-grown pile of 
volcanic rocks was immeasurable, yet the one, in its 
peace, its soft sweet air, and the near presence of the 
murmuring sea, called back the other. 

When, after three pleasant, peaceful months, the 
time came for her departure, there was general sorrow 
on the island, where it may well be imagined that her 
presence had greatly lightened the tedium of exist- 
ence for its lonely dwellers. "To this day," writes 
Doctor Chamberlain, "whenever I pick up one of 
Mr. Stevenson's novels, my first thoughts are always 
of his wife and our days at Cedros Island." 

Wliile in Ensenada on the return trip Mrs. Steven- 
son heard of a ranch for sale there, and after looking 
at it decided to purchase it. The place, known as 
El Sausal,* lies on the very edge of the great Pacific, 
and has a magnificent beach. The climate is as 
nearly perfect as a climate can be, and Mrs. Steven- 
son often said that if the world ever learned of the 
magic healing in that country there would be a great 
rush to the peninsula, so long despised as a hopeless 
desert. 

* Sausal (pronounced sowsdl) is a Spanish word meaning willow 
grove. 



TRAVELS IN MEXICO AND EUROPE 285 

There was only a little cottage of a very humble 
sort on the ranch and supplies were hard to get, but 
she loved it and was never better in health than 
when she was at Sausal. At this time she returned 
to San Francisco, but the following winter she went 
back to take possession and spent some time there. 
Writing to Mr. Charles Scribner, she says: "I am 
living in a sweet lost spot known as the Rancho EI 
Sausal, some six miles from Ensenada in Lower Cali- 
fornia. If I had no family I should stop here forever; 
except for the birds, and the sea, and the wind, it is 
so heavenly quiet, and I so love peace." Running 
through the place was a little stream, the banks of 
which were thick with the scarlet "Christmas berry," 
so well known in the woods of Upper California; 
multitudes of birds — canaries, linnets, larks, mocking- 
birds — all sang together outside the door in an amaz- 
ing chorus; and on the beach near by the sea beat its 
soft rhythmic measure. 

They were very close to nature at Sausal, but 
though its situation was so isolated they had no fear, 
for the penalties for any sort of crime were terrific. 
Burglary, or even house-breaking, were punished 
with death, and one could hardly frown at another 
without going to prison for it. Sometimes they were 
surprised by the sudden appearance of a man, tired 
and dusty, dashing up on a foam-covered horse and 
asking for food. To such an unfortunate they always 
gave meat and drink, and when the rurales* presently 
galloped up and demanded to know whether they 
had seen an escaped prisoner they swallowed their 

* Mexican mounted police. 



286 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

conscientious scruples and answered "No!" Person- 
ally they met with nothing but the most punctilious 
courtesy from the Mexican officials. When Mrs. 
Stevenson received a Christmas box from her daugh- 
ter, the chivalric comandante at Ensenada, in order to 
make sure that she should have it in time, sent it out 
to Sausal magnificently conducted by three mounted 
policemen. 

When she left this peaceful spot in the spring of 
1906 to return to San Francisco she little thought 
that she was moving towards one of the most dra- 
matic incidents in her eventful life. All went as 
usual on the journey until they had passed Santa 
Barbara on the morning of the fateful day, April 18, 
when vague rumours of some great disaster began to 
circulate in a confused way among the passengers. 
Soon they knew the dreadful truth, though in the 
swift rmining of the train they themselves had not 
felt the earthquake, and it was not long before con- 
crete evidence confirmed the reports, for at Salinas 
they were halted by the broken Pajaro bridge. At 
that place Mrs. Stevenson slept the night on the 
train, and the next day she hired a team and drove 
by a roundabout way to Gilroy, near which, it will 
be remembered, her ranch, Vanumanutagi, was situ- 
ated. There they learned that San Francisco was 
burning, and while Mr. Field made his way as best 
he could to the doomed city, she camped in a little 
hotel in Gilroy waiting for news — a prey meanwhile 
to the most intense fears for the safety of various 
members of her family, from whom she was entirely 
cut off. 



TRAVELS IN MEXICO AND EUROPE 287 

^^^liIe she waited as patiently as might be in the 
Httle country town, there were strenuous times in the 
burning city, but, as telegraph wires were all down 
and no mails were going out, she was compelled to 
remain in suspense until three days later, when the 
fire was subdued and Mr. Field was able to get back 
to her with the news that her family were all safe 
and her house unharmed. The story of the rescue of 
her house from the flames has been curiously contorted 
by persons who have attempted to write about it 
without knowing the facts. The real saviors of Mrs. 
Stevenson's house were her nephews and Mr. Field, 
and even they might have lost the day had it not 
been for a providential wind that blew in strongly 
from the sea against the advancing wall of flame. 
For three days and nights they looked down from 
their high post upon the raging furnace below and 
anxiously watched the progress of the fire as it leaped 
from street to street in its mad race up the hill, and 
when at last the two houses and a large wooden reser- 
voir immediately opposite went roaring up all hope 
seemed gone. In the end it was through a mere trifle 
that the tide of fortune was turned in their favour. 
In the garden there was a small cement pool, the 
home of a tiny fish answering to the name of Jack. 
When the water in the pool was slopped over by the 
earthquake poor Jack was tossed some yards away 
upon the grass, whence he was rescued, alive and wrig- 
gling, and restored to his own element, only to be 
killed later by some thoughtless refugee who washed 
his hands in the water with soap. The half bucket 
or so of water remaining in the pool helped to save 



288 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

the day, for the fire fighters dipped rugs and sacks 
in it, and, cHmbing to the flat roof, took turns in 
dashing through the scorching heat to beat the cor- 
nices when they began to smoke. Even so, the escape 
was so narrow that at times it seemed hopeless, and 
the rescuers took the precaution to dig a hole in the 
garden and bury the silverware, the St. Gaudens 
plaque, and other valuables. 

When the three days' conflagration had finally 
worn itself out and the tired and smoke-begrimed 
fighters could take account, they found the house 
and its contents safe, except for a huge hole in the 
roof where the earthquake had thrown down a large 
heavy chimney, piling up the bricks on the bed in the 
guest-chamber, fortunately not occupied at the time. 
But the outlook was ghastly, for the house stood high 
on its clean-swept hill like a lonely outpost in a great 
waste of cinders, half-fallen chimneys, and sagging 
walls. In two weeks' time, while they still smoked, 
the ruins took on a strangely old look, and it was 
like standing in the midst of the excavations of an 
ancient city. Around the solitary house on the hill 
the wind howled, making a mournful moaning sound 
through the broken network of wires that hung 
everywhere in the streets. 

Homeless refugees, running through the streets like 
wild creatures driven before a prairie fire, came pour- 
ing past, and some stopped to build their lean-to 
shacks of pieces of board and sacking against the 
sheltering wall of the house. Blankets and other 
things were passed out to keep them warm, and when 
they finally went their way the blankets went with 



TRAVELS IN MEXICO AND EUROPE 289 

them, but Mrs. Stevenson was glad that they should 
have them and said she would have done the same 
had she been in their case. 

All this while her son and daughter — the son in 
New York and the daughter in Italy — were in a state 
of anguished suspense as to their mother's fate. By 
a strange coincidence the daughter had herself been 
in some danger from the great eruption of Vesuvius, 
and had but just escaped from that when she heard 
newsboys crying in the streets of Rome, "San Fran- 
cisco tutta distrutta!" Several days passed in intense 
anxiety before she received the telegram with the 
blessed words "Mother safe!" 

As it was quite impossible to live in the destroyed 
city until some sort of order should be established, 
even water being unprocurable on the Hyde Street 
hill, Mrs. Stevenson decided to take refuge for the 
time at Vanumanutagi Ranch near Gilroy. Even 
there she found a sorry confusion, for the house chim- 
neys were all wrecked and the stone wall around the 
enclosure had been thrown down and scattered. 
There was plenty of good water, however, and the 
possibility of getting provisions and living after a 
fashion, so she settled down to stay there until condi- 
tions should improve in the city. It was an eerie 
place to stay in, too, for that section lies close to the 
main earthquake fault, and the quivering earth was 
a long time settling down from its great upheaval. 
For as long as a year afterwards small quakes came 
at frequent intervals, and in the stillness of the night 
strange roaring sounds, like the approach of a railroad 
train, and sudden exploding noises, like distant can- 



290 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

non shot, came to add their terrors to the creaking 
and swaying of the little wooden house. 

After some months Mrs. Stevenson went to San 
Francisco, but she found the discomfort still so great 
and the sight of the ruined city so depressing that she 
finally yielded to the persuasions of her son and Mr. 
Field to accompany them on a trip to Europe. They 
sailed from New York in November, 1906, on the 
French steamer La Provence. 

After a stay of only three or four days in Paris, 
they took the train for the south — an all-day trip. 
As Mrs. Stevenson had always thought she would 
love Avignon, though she had never been there, it 
was decided to go there first. In their compartment 
on the train there was a French bishop, a Monseigneur 
Charmiton, and his sister, with whom they soon fell 
into conversation. The bishop and his sister seemed 
appalled at the idea of anyone wanting to spend a 
winter in Avignon. "By no means go there," they 
said, "but come down where we live. It is beautiful 
there." The good people had a villa, it seemed, half- 
way between Nice and Monte Carlo. But Mrs. Ste- 
venson wanted to decide upon Avignon for herself, 
so they went on, and found it a most picturesque 
place, but soon discovered the truth of the old saw, 
"Windy Avignon, liable to plague when it has not the 
wind, and plagued with the wind when it has it.'* 
This wind swept strong and cold down the Valley of 
the Rhone, making it so bleak and forbidding that 
they were forced to cut their visit short. 

They left next day for Marseilles, where they found, 
much to their delight, not only their motor-car. 



TRAVELS IN MEXICO AND EUROPE 291 

which had been shipped from New York, but Mon- 
seigneur Charmiton and his sister, who were on the 
point of leaving for their villa at Cap Ferrat. "And 
how did you like Avignon?" were their first words. 
Although too polite to say "I told you so," they now 
insisted the Riviera be given a fair trial. So, chance 
and friendly counsel prevailing, the Stevenson party 
motored east through lovely Provence, passing swiftly 
through Hyeres of haunting memory, and on to 
Cannes, where they stopped the night; and so to an 
hotel in Beaulieu, where Monseigneur's sister had 
engaged rooms for them till a villa was found to their 
liking. And soon a charming one at St. Jean-sur- 
Mer, a little village near Beaulieu, was taken for the 
season. 

The Villa Mes Rochers stood In a walled garden, 
which sloped gently to a terrace on the edge of the 
sea — a place for tea in the afternoons when the mis- 
tral was not blowing. Here they settled down for 
the winter. 

It was a pleasant, easy life. There were friends 
in Nice and Monte Carlo; there was the daily motor 
ride; there were books to read, letters to write, and 
recipes to be learned from the French and set down 
in the famous cook book without which Mrs. Steven- 
son never travelled. Here they lingered till April, 
and then set out in their motor for London. 

Their route again lay through Provence. They 
stopped at Aries, famous alike for its beautiful women 
and its sausages. The beautiful women were absent 
that day, but a sausage appeared at table and was 
pronounced worthy of its niche in the sausage Hall 



292 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

of Fame. Further along, in the Cevennes, they were 
enchanted with Le Puy, and the lovely, lovely country 
where Louis had made his memorable journey with 
Modestine. And so they went on north, by Channel 
steamer to Folkstone, up through Kent, and into 
London by the Old Kent Road; then to lodgings in 
Chelsea, where old friends called and old ties were 
renewed. 

After a month in London a house was taken in 
Chiddingfold, Surrey, to be near "the dear Faver- 
shams," as Mrs. Stevenson always called them. Mr. 
and Mrs. William Faversham, whom Mrs. Stevenson 
held in great affection, owned The Old Manor in 
Chiddingfold, and they had found a place for her 
near them — Fairfield, a charming old house in an 
old-world garden, and, best of all, not five minutes* 
walk from The Old Manor. 

Life at Fairfield, except for constant rain, was de- 
lightful. Graham Balfour, the well-beloved, came 
for a visit; Austin Strong and his wife ran down from 
London; many an afternoon was spent at Sir James 
Barrie's place near Farnham. Sir James loved Mrs. 
Stevenson — a dear, shy man who had so little to say 
to so many, so much to say to her. Then there were 
the Williamsons (of Lightning Conductor fame), whom 
she had met in Monte Carlo; they also had a house 
in Surrey. And there were Sir Arthur and Lady 
Pinero, who lived only a mile or two from Fairfield. 
Mrs. Stevenson considered the genial, witty, gently 
cynical Sir Arthur one of the most interesting men she 
had ever met. Lady Pinero always called her hus- 
band "Pin," and Sir Arthur was enchanted when. 



TRAVELS IN MEXICO AND EUROPE 293 

after looking at him with smiling eyes, Mrs. Stevenson 
one day turned to Lady Pinero and remarked, "I've 
always doubted that old saying, *It is a sin to steal 
a Pin,' but now I understand it perfectly." 

Katherine de Mattos, Stevenson's cousin, also 
honoured Fairfield with a visit, and Coggie Ferrier, 
sister of Stevenson's boyhood friend, and the woman 
perhaps above all others in England whom Mrs. 
Stevenson loved best, came frequently. And always 
there were the Favershams, who were very dear to 
her heart. It was a memorable summer, full of pleas- 
ant companionship — and rain. Towards the middle 
of August, on account of the never-ceasing rain, it 
was finally decided to abandon Fairfield and return 
to France for a long motor trip. 

The first night out from Chiddingfold was spent at 
Tunbridge Wells, and next day a stop was made at 
Rye to call on Henry James. Never did travellers 
receive a more hearty or gracious welcome. It is a 
quaint, lost place, Rye — one of the old Cinque 
Ports; to enter it one passes under an ancient 
Roman arch; the nearest railroad is miles away. 
It is nice to think that after giving him a cup of 
tea in her drawing-room in San Francisco two 
years before, Mrs. Stevenson could see the house he 
lived in, admire his garden, drink tea in his drawing- 
room, and talk long and pleasantly with this old and 
valued friend she was never to see again. 

The second motor trip in France was an unqualified 
success. Keeping to the west and avoiding Paris, 
this time their route lay through Blois, Tours, Angou- 
16me, Libourne, Biarritz, till, finally, several miles 



294 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

from Pau, they had a panne, as they say in France, 
and their motor, which had behaved remarkably well 
until that moment, entered Pau ignominiously at the 
end of a long tow-rope. As it took ten days to make 
the repairs necessary, they used the interval of wait- 
ing to go by train to Lourdes. It was the particular 
time when pilgrims go to seek the healing waters of 
the miraculous fountain, and they saw many sad and 
depressing sights — for the lame, the halt, the blind, 
people afflicted with every sort of disease, and some 
even in the last agonies, crowded the paths in a piti- 
ful procession. Mrs. Stevenson afterwards said that 
when she saw the blind come away from the sacred 
fount with apparently seeing eyes, and the lame 
throw away their crutches and walk, she was, as King 
Agrippa said unto Paul, "almost persuaded" to be- 
lieve. 

Gladly putting this picture behind them, they went 
on to Bagneres-de-Bigorre, a little village nestling at 
the base of the Pyrenees. The weather there was per- 
fect, and the whole atmosphere of the place so sweetly 
simple and unsophisticated that Mrs. Stevenson loved 
it best of all. After six pleasant days spent there, 
the motor now mended, they returned by train to 
Pau and resumed their trip — due east to Carcasonne, 
that lovely, lovely city, with its mediaeval ramparts 
and towers, and then on to Cette on the Mediterra- 
nean, where they landed in a storm. 

And so north, almost paralleling their first trip, 
they ran through Mende, Bourges, and Montargis, 
and one rainy afternoon passed within sight of the 
village of Grez, where so many years before Fanny 



TRAVELS IN MEXICO AND EUROPE 295 

Osbourne first met Louis Stevenson, but the memories 
that it brought were too poignant, and she was only 
able to give one look as they sped swiftly by. 

Arriving in Paris on October 3, after this leisurely 
journey through beautiful France, they remained 
but a few days there and then went on to London, 
where they met the Favershams and sailed in com- 
pany with them for America on the Vaterland. With 
but a brief stop in New York they hastened on to 
San Francisco to carry out a certain plan that had 
been formulated while they were in France. Oddly 
enough, it was on the other side of the world that 
Mrs. Stevenson first heard of beautiful Stonehedge, 
the place at Santa Barbara which became the home 
of her last days. At Monte Carlo she met Mrs. 
Clarence Postley, of California, who dilated on the 
charms of the Santa Barbara place — its fine old trees, 
its spring water, its romantic story of being haunted 
by the ghost of a beautiful countess — until finally 
Mrs. Stevenson said that if it was as charming as 
that she would buy it. After her return to California 
she went to see it, and, finding it even more lovely 
than she had been told, the bargain was struck. It 
had been evident for some time, too, that her health 
required a warmer climate than that of San Fran- 
cisco, and, above all, she longed for a place where she 
might live more in the open than the winds and fogs 
of the bay city permitted. So, though she was very 
sad at leaving the house on the heights where she 
had lived long enough for her heart-strings to take 
root, she sold it in 1908 and removed to the southern 
place, there to enter on a new phase of her life. 



LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

The house at Hyde and Lombard Streets, follow- 
ing out the curious fatality that made everything 
connected with her take on some romantic aspect, 
became for a time the abode of Carmelite Sisters, the 
Roman Catholic Order whose strict rules require its 
devotees to live almost completely cut off from the 
world. The long drawing-room, where Mrs. Steven- 
son had entertained so many of the great people of 
the earth, became the chapel, and in place of the 
light laughter and gay talk that once echoed from its 
walls only the low intoning of the mass was heard. 
At the front door, where the Indian pagan idols had 
kept guard, a revolving cylinder was placed so that 
the charitable might put in their donations without 
seeing the faces or hearing the voices of the immured 
nuns. In the green garden where Mrs. Stevenson 
had so often walked and dreamed of other days the 
gentle sisters knelt and prayed that the sins of the 
world might be forgiven. 



CHAPTER Xn 
THE LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 

Of all the beautiful places of the earth where it 
was Fanny Stevenson's good fortune to set up her 
household gods at various times, perhaps the loveliest 
of all was this spot on the peaceful shore of the sunset 
sea, under the patronage of the noble lady, Saint 
Barbara. In the Samoan gardens tropical flowers 
flamed under the hot rays of the vertical sun; in San 
Francisco geraniums and fuchsias rejoiced and grew 
prodigiously in the salt sea fog; but at Santa Barbara, 
where north and south meet, the plants of every land 
thrive as though native born. The scarlet hibiscus, 
child of the tropics, grows side by side with the aster 
of northern climes; the bougainvillaea flings out its 
purple sprays in close neighbourhood to the roses of 
old England; the sweet-william, dear to the hearts of 
our grandmothers, blooms in rich profusion in the 
shade of the pomegranate; and in brotherly com- 
panionship with the Norwegian pine the magnolia- 
tree unfolds its great creamy cups. 

In her garden at Stonehedge, situated in lovely 
Montecito, about six miles from Santa Barbara, 
Fanny Stevenson found the chief solace of her declin- 
ing years. Its extent of some seven acres gave her 
full scope for the horticultural experiments in which 
she delighted. When she took possession of the place 

297 



298 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

it was in rather a neglected state, but that was all 
the better, for it gave her a free field to develop it 
according to her own tastes. The house was a well- 
built but old-fashioned affair of an unattractive type, 
with imitation towers and gingerbread trimmings, 
and at first sight her friends assured her that nothing 
could be done with it. Architects, when asked for 
advice, said the only thing was to tear it down and 
build a new house. But, instead, she called in a car- 
penter from the town and set to work on alterations. 
When all was done the house had a pleasant southern 
look that fitted in well with the luxuriant growth of 
flowers and trees in which it stood, and its red roof 
made a cheerful note in the landscape. 

In the grounds she worked out her plans, leisurely 
adding something year by year, a little Dutch gar- 
den, sweeping walks and lawns, a wonderful terraced 
rose-garden with a stone pergola at the upper end, 
where the creepers were never trimmed into smug 
stiffness, but grew in wild luxuriance at their own 
sweet wUl, and soon they made a glorious tangle of 
sweet-smelling blooms and glossy green leaves. From 
the living-room windows one looked out over a 
broad expanse of mossy lawn; groups of vermilion- 
coloured hibiscus and poinsettias kept harmonious 
company; dahlias made great masses of gorgeous 
colour among the green; tall hollyhocks were ranged 
along the veranda in old-fashioned formalism; indeed, 
it would be like quoting from a florist's catalogue to 
mention all the plants to be found in this garden. 

Nor did she neglect the purely useful, for the most 
delicious fruits and vegetables — from the lemons, 




Stoneliedge at Santa Barbara 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 299 

oranges, and loquats of the south to the apricots, 
apples, and pears of the north — grew to perfection 
under her fostering care. She was always on the 
lookout for new varieties, and I find among her cor- 
respondence a letter from the distinguished horticul- 
turist, Luther Burbank, in answer to her request for 
strawberry plants: 

"Santa Rosa, California, Feb. 21, 1911. 
"Dear Mrs. Stevenson: 

"I feel most highly honored and pleased with your 
kind order of the 15th instant for 25 Patagonian 
strawberry plants, which were sent out yesterday. 
. . . You can never know the regard and love in 
which Mr. Stevenson is held in thousands of hearts 
who have never expressed themselves to you. 
"Sincerely yours, 

"Luther Burbank." 

The story of Fanny Stevenson's life at Stonehedge 
is one of the still peace that she loved more and more 
as time went on, almost its only excitements being 
the blooming of a new flower, the digging of a well, 
or perhaps the trying out of an electric pump. The 
hurly-burly of the world was far away from that 
quiet spot, and only the arrival of the daily mail by 
rural carrier, or an infrequent visitor from some one 
of the country houses in the neighbourhood, broke the 
sweet monotony of existence. Of the simple pleasures 
of her life here she writes to her husband's cousin, 
Graham Balfour, in these words: 

"As I write, my delightful Japanese boy, Yonida, 



800 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

brings me in a great bunch of violets in one hand and 
quantities of yellow poppies in the other, while in 
front of me stands an immense vase of sweet peas — 
all just plucked from my garden. I wish that you 
might share them with me, and that you might hear 
the mocking-bird that is singing by my window. A 
mocking-bird is not a night-in-gale, to be sure, but 
he has a fine song of his own. I have such a nice 
little household; my two Japanese young men, who 
do gardening and such things; a most excellent, very 
handsome, middle-aged cook named Kate Romero, 
who, in spite of her name is half Irish and half Eng- 
lish; and Mary Boyle, altogether Irish and altogether 
a most delightful creature. The most important 
member of the family, however, is my cat; Kitson is 
a full-bred Siamese royal temple cat, and is quite 
aware of his exalted pedigree. He exacts all and 
gives nothing. There are times when I should prefer 
more affection and less hauteur. He's a proud cat, 
and loves no one but Kitson." 

This cat, a strange creature coloured like a tawny 
lion, with face, tail, and paws a chocolate brown, and 
large bright-blue eyes staring uncannily from his dark 
countenance, possibly had more affection than his 
haughty manner indicated, for, after his mistress's 
death, he refused food and soon followed her into the 
other world, if so be that cats are admitted there. 

In this house were gathered all the heirlooms, 
books, old furniture, pictures, and other interesting 
objects which had been brought down from San 
Francisco. The St. Gaudens medallion of Stevenson 
was fitted into a niche over the mantelpiece in the 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 301 

living-room, where Mrs. Stevenson spent much of her 
time seated before the great fireplace with the haughty 
Kitson on her lap. On the mantelshelf there was a 
curious collection of photographs — one of Ah Fu, the 
Chinese cook of South Sea memory, side by side 
with that of Sir Arthur Pinero, famous playwright — 
silent witnesses to the wide extent of her acquain- 
tance and the broad democracy of her ideas. 

At Stonehedge her life ran on almost undisturbed 
in the calm stillness that she loved so much. Now 
and then she went for a day's fishing at Serena, a 
place on the shore a few miles from Stonehedge. 
With its background of high, rugged hills and the 
calm summer sea at its feet it has a serene beauty 
that well befits its name. 

At infrequent intervals people of note arriving in 
Santa Barbara sought her out, and though she re- 
ceived them graciously she was equally interested in 
the visit of an Italian gardener and his wife, who 
came to bring her a present of some rare plant, and 
with whom she had most delightful talks about the 
flowers of the tropics. She was much pleased, too, 
when one day a Scotch couple, plain, kindly people, 
came merely to look at the house where the widow of 
their great countryman lived. When they came she 
happened to be in the garden and they apologized 
for the intrusion and were about to withdraw, but 
the moment she recognized the accent she welcomed 
them with outstretched hands. When they left their 
carriage was loaded with flowers, and she stood on 
the veranda waving her hand in farewell. 

In August, 1909, accompanied by her daughter, Mr. 



302 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

Field, her nephew Louis Sanchez, and the maid 
Mary Boyle, she went on a motor trip to Sausal 
in Lower California, where they found that the 
house had been broken into by duck hunters, and 
presented a forlorn appearance. Coming from the 
comfort of Stonehedge to this deserted cabin was 
something of a shock to the rest of the party, and but 
for Mrs. Stevenson they would have left at once. 
"Mrs. Robinson Crusoe," however, justified her name 
with such enthusiasm that the others caught fire. 
Louis Sanchez lent a ready hand to repairs and 
under his magic fingers doors swung upon their 
hinges, tables ceased to wabble, door-knobs turned, 
and even a comfortable rocking-chair "for Tamaitai" 
emerged from a hopeless wreck. Mrs. Strong and 
Mary Boyle assaulted the little cabin with soap and 
water and disinfectants, and with much courage and 
laughter routed two swarms of bees which had taken 
possession of the ceiling. Mr. Field supplied the 
larder with game and fish, and ran the automobile 
to town for supplies. Mrs. Stevenson, who, at Stone- 
hedge, was always somewhat dismayed by the morn- 
ing demands of the cook for the day's orders, de- 
lighted in surprising the party with unexpected good 
dishes which she cooked with her own hands. 

As the years passed her health began to show dis- 
tinct signs of breaking, and when she proposed another 
trip to Mexico in the spring of 1910, her family feared 
she was not strong enough to endure the fatigue, but 
as she herself said she "would rather go to the well 
and be broken than be preserved on a dusty shelf," 
they finally agreed. 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 303 

She had had a great admiration for Mexico ever 
since her first visit, and wanted to show her daughter 
the land she said was "older and more interesting" 
than any country she had ever seen. Then, as her 
nephew was a mining engineer recently graduated 
from the University of California, she hoped to find 
a good opening for him in that land of gold and 
silver. The three set off in high spirits, for there 
was nothing Mrs. Stevenson liked better than change 
of scene. 

Although during this time in Mexico City she found 
the altitude very trying in Its effect on her heart, and 
was in consequence obliged to keep rather quiet, yet 
she was able to move about to a certain extent and 
to see some of the sights of the place. She loved to 
sit by the Viga Canal and watch the life of the people 
ebb and flow along its tree-lined stretches — the queer 
old flat-bottomed and square-ended boats coming in 
on work days with vegetables and flowers from the 
so-called "floating gardens," and on days of fiesta 
transformed into pleasure craft with gay streamers 
and flags. On moonlight nights the tinkle of guitars 
sounded everywhere on the still waters of the canal 
and far out on the lake, for it is the custom of well- 
to-do people to hire these boats and with their musi- 
cians spend the evening a la Venice. 

In the city the travellers were much interested in 
the Monte de Piedad, the pawn shop which is run 
under State control. Here great bargains may some- 
times be picked up in jewels left there by ladies of 
good family in reduced circumstances. Mrs. Steven- 
son had a very feminine liking for jewels, but they 



304 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

had to be dififerent from the ordinary sort to attract 
her, and she was much pleased to pick up in Mexico 
some pieces of the odd and barbaric designs that she 
especially liked. 

Delightful days were spent in the city prowling 
about the queer old shops and buying curious things 
that are not to be found in other parts of the world. 
This was the kind of shopping that she really enjoyed 
— this poking about in strange, romantic places. 

Among the very few people that Mrs. Stevenson 
met in Mexico in a social way was the well-known 
historian and archaeologist, Mrs. Zelia Nuttall, whom 
she considered a most charming and interesting 
woman. Together with her daughter she lunched 
with Mrs. Nuttall at her picturesque house, once the 
home of Alvarado, in the outskirts of Mexico City. 
It was the oldest house they had ever seen, and, with 
its inner patio, outside stairways and balconies, and 
large collection of rare idols, pots, and weapons that 
Mrs. Nuttall had herself unearthed from old Indian 
ruins, was intensely interesting. 

Hearing of an opening in the mining business at 
Oaxaca for her nephew, she decided to go there and 
look into the matter. Conditions at Oaxaca were 
found to be even more primitive than at the capital. 
One time they asked for hot water, but the American 
landlady threw up her hands and cried, **0h, my 
dears ! There is a water famine in Oaxaca. It is 
terrible. We can get you a very small jug to wash 
with, but it isn't clear enough to drink." 

"What are we to drink?" 

In answer to this she brought a large jug of bottled 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 305 

water that tasted strongly of sulphur. This they 
mixed with malted milk bought at a grocery, making 
a beverage of which they said that though they had 
tasted better in their time, they certainly never had 
tasted worse. Notwithstanding all these inconve- 
niences Mrs. Stevenson was in the best of tempers 
and keenly interested in seeing places and things, 
and when she tired was happy with a magazine or 
sitting at a window watching the street life. The 
first evening, while they were sitting in the patio, 
there was a violent earthquake, which seemed to 
them worse than the famous shake of 1906 in San 
Francisco, but it did no damage and the hotel people 
made nothing of it. 

After seeing her nephew off to the mines at Taviche, 
and taking a side trip to see the ancient buried city 
of Mitla, Mrs. Stevenson and her daughter returned 
to the capital, where they took train for California, 
and were soon at home again amid the sweet flowers 
of Stonehedge. There Mrs. Stevenson once more 
took up the writing of the introductions to her hus- 
band's books, for which she had contracted with 
Charles Scribner's Sons. As I have already said, it 
was only after much urging that she consented to do 
this work, and her almost painful shrinking from it 
appears in a letter of March 25, 1911, to Mr. Charles 
Scribner: "With this note I send the introduction to 
Father Damien. I didn't see how to touch upon the 
others when I know so little about them. I know 
this thing is about as bad as anything can be. I 
cringe whenever I think of it, but I seem incapable of 
doing better. If, however, it is beyond the pale. 



306 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

write and tell me, please, and I will try once again. 
Louis's work was so mixed up with his home life that 
it is hard to see just where to draw the line between 
telling enough and yet not too much. I dislike ex- 
tremely drawing aside the veil to let the public gaze 
intimately where they have no right to look at all. I 
think it is the consciousness of this feeling that gives 
an extra woodenness to my style — style is a big word 
— I should have put it 'bad style.'" 

It was during this time that news came of a severe 
accident to Alison Cunningham, Louis's old nurse — 
a misfortune which resulted in her death within a 
few weeks. Mrs. Stevenson always felt an especial 
tenderness for "Cummy," as the one whose kind 
hand had tended her beloved husband in his infancy, 
and she very gladly aided in the old lady's support 
during her last years. Lord Guthrie, Louis's long- 
time friend and schoolmate, says in his booklet on 
the story of Cummy: 

"From the novelist's widow she always received 
most delicate and thoughtful kindness. Mrs. Steven- 
son often wrote to her and she amply supplemented 
the original pension settled on her by Mr. Thomas 
Stevenson, Louis's father. A few months before 
Cummy 's death (at the age of ninety-two), she cor- 
dially agreed, on condition that Cummy should not 
know of it, to make a special additional annual pay- 
ment which I had ascertained, from an outside source, 
would add to the old lady's happiness. And as soon 
as she received my letter telling her of Cummy 's 
accident (a fall causing a broken hip), I had a char- 
acteristically generous message from her, sent by wire 




The hist iJortrait of Mrs. Stevenson 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 307 

from San Francisco, giving me carte-blanclie for 
Cummy's benefit. I call this message characteristic, 
because I find in her letters such passages as this: 
'Please, dear Cummy, always let me know instantly 
when there is anything in the world I can do to add 
to your comfort, your happiness, or your pleasure. 
There is so little I can do for you, and I wish to do 
so much. You and I are the last; and we must help 
each other all we can, until we, too, follow.'"* 

When Cummy died Mrs. Stevenson was represented 
at the funeral by Mr. A. P. Melville, W. S., and a 
wreath ordered by her was placed on the coflin. She 
also bore the expense of Cummy's last illness and 
funeral and had a handsome tombstone put up in 
her memory. 

In these days the sands began to run low in the 
hour-glass of the life of Fanny Stevenson, and a 
great weariness seemed to be settling upon her. 
Writing to Mr. Scribner in June, 1913, she says: "All 
my life I have taken care of others, and yet I have 
always wanted to be taken care of, for naturally I 
belong to the clinging vine sort of woman; but fate 
seems still against me." Nevertheless, I truly believe 
she enjoyed being the head of her clan, the fairy god- 
mother, the chieftainess of her family, to whom all 
came for help and counsel. But now the shadows of 
'vening were growing long, and she was getting very, 
very tired. 

But, world-weary as she was, she consented at this 
time to prepare for publication in book form the 
notes which she had taken, primarily for her hus- 

* Quoted by courtesy of Lord Guthrie. 



308 LIFE OF IVIRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

band's use, of one of their voyages in the South Seas. 
As it happened, he made httle use of the notes, so 
that most of it was new material. In this work, for 
dear memory's sake, she took a real pleasure, of 
which she speaks in the preface in these words: "The 
little book, however dull it may seem to others, can 
boast of at least one reader, for I have gone over this 
record of perhaps the happiest period of my life with 
thrilling interest." The book was brought out by 
Charles Scribner's Sons, under the title of The Cruise 
of the ^^ Janet Nichol," and it has a melancholy inter- 
est, apart from its contents, as the last work done by 
her in this life. She had only finished the reading 
of the proofs a few days before her death, and the 
book did not appear until some months afterwards. 
In November, 1913, she was threatened with 
asthma, and in consequence went to spend some 
time at Palm Springs, a health resort on the desert in 
southeastern California. In the dry, clear air of 
that place her health improved so wonderfully that 
all her friends and family believed that a crisis had 
passed, and that she had fortunately sailed into one 
of those calm havens which so often come to people 
in their later years. She returned to Stonehedge 
seemingly well. All their fears were lulled, and the 
blow was all the more crushing when, on the 18th of 
February, 1914, silently and without warning, she 
passed from this life. In the manner of her death 
and that of her husband there was a striking coinci- 
dence; each passed away suddenly, after only a few 
hours of unconsciousness, from the breaking of an 
artery in the brain. The story of her last moments 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA SC9 

may best be told in the words of a letter from her 
devoted maid, Agnes Crowley,* which is so sincere 
and touching that I quote it without eliminations: 

"My dear Mrs. Sanchez: 

"We are a very sad little household — we are all 
heart-broken, to think our dear little Madam has 
gone away never to return. It seems too awful, and 
just when she was enjoying everything. We were 
home from Palm Springs just one week when she 
was taken away from us — but you can console your- 
self by thinking that she was surrounded by love and 
devotion. She was not sick and did not suffer. 
Tuesday evening, February 17, she felt well and read 
her magazines until nine o'clock, and Mr. Field 
played cards with her till 10.30. Then she retired. 
The next morning I went in to attend to her as 
usual, and there was my dear little Madam lying 
unconscious. I thought at first she was in a faint, 
and I quickly ran for Mr. Field; he jumped up and 
put on his bathrobe and went to her while I called 
Dr. Hurst. It took the doctor about seven minutes 
to get here, and as soon as he saw her he said it was 
a stroke, but he seemed to be hopeful and thought 
he could pull her through. He put an ice pack on 
her head and gave her an injection in the arm and 
oxygen to inhale, and she seemed to begin to breathe 
natural, and we all hoped, but it was in vain. She 
never regained consciousness, and at two o'clock she 
just stopped breathing, so you see she did not suffer. 
But oh Mrs. Sanchez, we all seemed so helpless — we 

* Her former maid, Mary Boyle, had married and left her service. 



310 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

all loved her so and yet could do nothing. Dr. Hurst 
worked hard from 8.30 till two o'clock, and when the 
end came he cried like a little child, for he loved Mrs. 
Stevenson very much. It was an awful blow to us 
all — it was so sudden. This place will never seem 
the same to William and me, for we loved our little 
Madam dearly, and it was a pleasure to do anything 
for her — for she was always so gentle and sweet. I 
adored her from the first time I ever saw her, and 
will always consider it the greatest pleasure of my 
life to have had the privilege of waiting upon her. 
"I remain very affectionately, 

"Agnes Crowley." 

When the angel of death stooped to take her he 
came on the wings of a wild storm, which raged that 
week all through the Southwest — fitting weather for 
the passing of the "Stormy Petrel." Railroads were 
flooded all over the country, and her son, Lloyd 
Osbourne, was delayed by washouts for some days 
on the way out from New York. On his arrival the 
body was removed to San Francisco, where a simple 
funeral ceremony was held in the presence of a few 
sorrowing friends and relatives. On her bier red 
roses, typical of her own warm nature, were heaped 
in masses. A touching incident, one that it would 
have pleased her to know, was the appearance of 
Fuzisaki, her Japanese gardener at Stonehedge, with 
a wreath of beautiful flowers. It was in accordance 
with her own wish, several times expressed to those 
nearest her, that her body was cremated and the 
ashes later removed to Samoa, there to lie beside her 
beloved on the lonely mountain top. 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 311 

To her own family the sense of loss was overwhelm- 
ing, and I cannot perhaps express it better than in 
the words of her grandson, Austin Strong: "To say 
that I miss her means nothing. Why, it is as if an 
Era had passed into oblivion. She was so much the 
Chief of us all, the Ruling Power. God rest her 
soul!" 

When Fanny Van de Grift Stevenson passed from 
this earth the news of her death carried a pang of 
grief to many a heart in far distant lands. One who 
knew her well, her husband's cousin, Graham Balfour, 
writes his estimate of her character in these words: 

"Although I had met Fanny Stevenson twice in 
England, I first came to know her on my arrival at 
Vailima in August, 1892, when within a single day 
we established a firm friendship that only grew closer 
until her death. The three stanzas by Louis so com- 
pletely expressed her that it seems useless for a man 
to add anything or to refine upon it: 

'Steel-true and blade-straight 

Honor, anger, valor, fire, 

A love that life could never tire. 

Teacher, tender comrade, wife, 
A fellow-farer true through life.' 

"These were all the essentials, and if we add her 
devotion to her children and her loyalty to her friends, 
we have the fabric of which her life was woven. Her 
integrity and her directness were such that one could, 
and frequently did, differ from her and express the 



312 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

difference in the strongest terms without leaving a 
trace of bitterness. 

"I remember in particular a scheme which she 
wished to set on foot for releasing Mataafa and other 
Samoan chiefs from their exile in the German island 
of Jaluit and carrying them off to Australia. The 
project was a wild one and would only have led to 
their return and disgrace, and in these terms and 
much stronger expressions we discussed it, without 
ever abating one jot from our personal friendship. 

"And in the long years that followed absence made 
no difference. Every letter, when it came, was as 
full of affection and of confidence as its predecessors 
— full of loyalty and tenderness. 

"To her enemies, of course, she showed another 
side. Opposition she did not mind, but dishonesty 
and deceit were unforgivable. 

"The news of her death reached me in St. Helena, 
as the announcement of Louis's death found me on 
another far-off island in the Carolinas; and both 
times the world became a colder, greyer, more monot- 
onous place." 

These pages have been written in vain if I have 
not made clear what the world owes this rare woman, 
not only for the sedulous care which kept the invalid 
genius alive long after the time allotted to him in the 
book of fate, but for the intellectual sympathy and 
keen discernment with which she stood beside him 
and 

"Burnished the sword, blew on the drowsy coal. 
Held still the target higher, chary of praise 
And prodigal of counsel." 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 313 

In speaking of literature's great debt to her, Lord 
Guthrie says: 

"Without her Louis's best work neither could nor 
would have existed. In studying the life and works 
of Thomas Carlyle I often had occasion to contrast 
his wife and Louis's. With all Mrs. Carlyle's great 
and attractive qualities and her undoubted influence 
on her husband, she made his work difficult by her 
want of perspective, magnifying molehills into moun- 
tains. It could not be said that any of his great 
writings owed their existence to her." 

An article appearing in the Literary Digest shortly 
after her death touches upon this point: 

"Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson was content to 
remain in the background and let her husband reap 
all the glory for his literary achievements, and the 
result was that her part in his career had prob- 
ably been minimized in the public mind. She 
was a great deal more than a mere domestic help 
meet." 

From her old and attached friend, Mr. S. S. Mc- 
Clure, comes this sincere tribute: 

"The more I saw of the Stevensons the more I 
became convinced that Mrs. Stevenson was the unique 
woman in the world to be Stevenson's wife. . . . 
When he met her her exotic beauty was at its height, 
and with this beauty she had a wealth of experience, 
a reach of imagination, a sense of humor, which he 
had never found in any other woman. Mrs. Steven- 
son had many of the fine qualities that we usually 
attribute to men rather than to women; a fair-minded- 
ness, a large judgment, a robust, inconsequential 



314 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

philosophy of Hfe, without which she could not have 
borne, much less shared with a relish equal to his 
own, his wandering, unsettled life, his vagaries, his 
gipsy passion for freedom. She had a really creative 
imagination, which she expressed in living. She 
always lived with great intensity, had come more 
into contact with the real world than Stevenson had 
done at the time when they met, had tried more 
kinds of life, known more kinds of people. When he 
married her, he married a woman rich in knowledge 
of life and the world. 

"She had the kind of pluck that Stevenson particu- 
larly admired. He was best when he was at sea, and 
although Mrs. Stevenson was a poor sailor and often 
suffered greatly from seasickness, she accompanied 
him on all his wanderings in the South Seas and on 
rougher waters, with the greatest spirit. A woman 
who was rigid in small matters of domestic economy, 
who insisted on a planned and ordered life, would 
have worried Stevenson terribly. 

"A sick man of letters never married into a family 
so well fitted to help him make the most of his powers. 
Mrs. Stevenson and both of her children were gifted; 
the whole family could write. When Stevenson was 
ill, one of them could always lend a hand and help 
him out. Without such an amanuensis as Mrs. 
Strong,* Mrs. Stevenson's daughter, he could not 
have got through anything like the amount of work 
he turned off. Whenever he had a new idea for a 
story, it met, at his own fireside, with the immediate 
recognition, appreciation, and enthusiasm so neces- 

* Now Mrs. Salisbxiry Field. 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 315 

sary to an artist, and which he so seldom finds among 
his own blood or in his own family, 

"After Stevenson disappeared in the South Seas, 
many of us had a new feeling about that part of the 
world. I remember that on my next trip to Cali- 
fornia I looked at the Pacific with new eyes; there 
was a glamour of romance over it. I always intended 
to go to Samoa to visit him ; it was one of those splen- 
did adventures that one might have had and did not. 

"One afternoon in August, 1896, I went with Sid- 
ney Colvin and Mrs. Sitwell (now Lady Colvin) to 
Paddington Station to meet Mrs. Stevenson, when, 
after Stevenson's death she at last returned to Europe 
after her world-wide wanderings — after nine years of 
exile. When she alighted from the boat train I felt 
Stevenson's death as if it had happened only the day 
before, and I have no doubt that she did. As she 
came up the platform in black, with so much that 
was strange and wonderful behind her, his companion 
of so many years, through uncharted seas and distant 
lands, I could only say to myself: 'Hector's Andro- 
mache!'"* 

She had one of those unusual personahties that 
attract other women as well as men, and one of them. 
Lady Balfour, writes of her from the point of view 
of her own sex: 

"When Mrs. Stevenson heard of my engagement 
to Graham Balfour she wrote me the kindest and 
tenderest of letters, telling me not to have any fears 
in the new path that lay before me. She added: *I 
who tell you so have trodden it from end to end/ 

* Quoted from McClures Magazine. 



316 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

This sympathy meant much to me, for it could only 
have come from such a generous heart as hers. She 
had hoped that Palema* would continue to make his 
home with them, and she had great confidence in 
and love for him. He would have been a link be- 
tween her and the old associations of the Vailima 
life, and his engagement to an English girl proved 
to her that this would no longer be possible. Yet 
where a less fine nature would have contented itself 
with the mere formal congratulations as all that 
could be possible under the circumstances, she gave 
generous sympathy to a stranger, who caused her 
fresh loss, from her generous 'steel-true' heart. 

"I had been married about two years when Mrs. 
Stevenson came to England in 1898, and we were 
living at Oxford, I was naturally a little nervous as 
to my first introduction to her. My husband wanted 
to take me up to London to see her, but I asked to 
go alone, feeling somehow that it would be easier. 
To this day I remember the trepidation with which 
I followed the parlor maid upstairs in Oxford Terrace, 
and was ushered into the room where a lady of infinite 
dignity was lying on a sofa. It seems to me now 
that after one steady look from those searching 'eyes 
of gold and bramble dew' (which had rather the 
effect of a sort of spiritual X-ray), I lost my feeling 
of being on approval, and in ten minutes I was sit- 
ting on the floor beside the sofa, pouring out my 
own past history in remarkable detail, and feeling as 
if I had known Tamaitai for years. 

"In the following summer, 1899, she came to stay 

* Sir Graham Balfour's Samoan name. 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 317 

with us at Oxford, to give Palema all the help she 
could about the life of Robert Louis Stevenson he 
had just undertaken at her urgent request. Inciden- 
tally, she was to be Introduced to her godson, our 
eldest boy Gilbert, who was then about six months 
old. She gave him a christening present of a silver 
bowl for his bread and milk, upon a silver saucer 
which could be reversed and used also as a cover. 
On the covering side were the words from the Child's 
Garden: 

'It is very nice to think 
The world is full of meat and drink 
With little children saying grace 
In every Christian kind of place.' 

"When the cover was taken off and used as a saucer 
it had on its concave side: 

*A child should always say what's true 
And speak when he is spoken to, 
And behave mannerly at table. 
At least as far as he Is able.' 

"Tamaitai had had a very critical operation dur- 
ing the previous autumn, and was stUl comparatively 
invalided with the effects of it. She spoke enthusi- 
astically of Sir Frederick Treves, who had performed 
it and had refused any fee, saying he counted it a 
privilege to attend her. I have a clear picture of 
her in my mind, lying on the sofa in our drawing- 
room. The door opened and the nurse carried In 
the baby, barefooted. 'Ah,' she said to him, 'who's 
this coming in hanging out ten pink rosebuds at the 



318 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

tail of his frock?* And the little pink toes justified 
a description that only she would have so worded. 

"We drove her round to a few of the most beau- 
tiful and characteristic of the Oxford colleges. She 
was easily fatigued, but she delighted in what she 
saw. I remember admiring her pretty feet, clad in 
quite inadequate but most dainty black satin shoes, 
with very high heels, and fine silk stockings. When 
I put my admiration into words she just smiled upon 
me delightfully but said nothing. 

"One evening we talked desultorily about the 
* criminal instinct.' 'Well,' I said at last, 'there's 
one thing certain, I should never commit a murder. 
I shouldn't have the courage when it came to the 
point!' *0h,' said she, 'I could murder a person if 
I hated him enough for anything he had done, but 
I should have to call upon him in the morning and 
tell him I was going to murder him at five o'clock.' 

"We dined out with some Oxford friends, among 
whom was a tall Scotch professor who was a brilliant 
and quick talker. Tamaitai took no part in the 
rapid thrust and parry of the talk, but sat silently 
looking from one to another with her great dark eyes. 
Their comment on her long afterwards was that she 
was the most inscrutable person they had ever met. 
As we drove home after the party I asked Tamaitai: 
'What did you think of the talk ? ' There was a brief 
silence — then: 'I didn't understand a single word of 
it, they talked so fast,' said she frankly. 

"I don't think I ever knew a woman who was a 
more perfect 'gentleman.' Scorning all that was not 
direct, and true, and simple, she herself hated dis- 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 319 

guise or casuistry in any form. Her eyes looked 
through your soul and out at the other side, but you 
never felt that her judgment, whatever it was, would 
be harsh. She was curiously detached, and yet you 
always wanted her sympathy, and if she loved you 
it never failed you. She was a strong partisan, which 
was perhaps the most feminine part of her character. 
She was wholly un-English, but she made allowances 
for every English tradition. My Enghsh maids loved 
her without understanding her in the least. I never 
knew any one that had such a way as she had of 
turning your little vagaries and habits and fads to 
your notice with their funny side out, so that all the 
time you were subtly flattered and secretly delighted.'* 

I wish I had the power to describe that mysterious 
charm which drew to her so many and such various 
people — the high and the low in far-scattered places 
of the earth — but it was too elusive to put in words. 
Perhaps a large part of it lay in her clear simplicity, 
her utter lack of pretence or pose. I remember read- 
ing once in a San Francisco newspaper a comment by 
a writer who seemed to touch nearly upon the heart 
of the secret. The paragraph runs thus: 

"Once a man told me that Mrs. Robert Louis Ste- 
venson was the one woman In the world he could 
imagine a man being willing to die for. Every man 
I asked — every single man, rich and poor, young or 
old, clever or stupid — all agreed about Mrs. Steven- 
son, that she was the most fascinating woman he had 
ever seen. It was some years ago that I saw her, but 
I would know her again if I saw her between flashes 
of lightning in a stormy sea. Individuality — that 



320 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

was her charm. She knew it and she had sense 
enough to be herself. Individuahty and simple un- 
affected honesty of speech and action and look are 
the most potent charms and the most lasting that 
any woman can ever hope to have." 

Her broad sympathies, too, had much to do with 
it. If there is any word in the English language that 
means the opposite of snob, it may certainly be 
applied to her. She picked out her friends for the 
simple and sufficient reason that she liked them, and 
they might and did include a duchess, a Chinese, a 
great English playwright, a French fisherman, a 
saloon-keeper who was once shipwrecked with her, a 
noted actor — and so on through a long and varied 
list. Once in Sydney when she was out walking 
with her daughter, both richly dressed, she stopped 
suddenly to shake hands with a group of black-avised 
pirates (to all appearances) with rings in their ears. 
She had met them somewhere among the islands, 
and her little white-gloved hand grasped their big 
brown ones with genuine and affectionate friendship. 
Wide apart as she and her husband were in many 
things, in their utter lack of snobbery they were as 
one. Once they were at a French watering-place 
when from their room up-stairs they heard a loud 
uproar below. A voice cried: "I will see my Louis !" 
Going out to see what the trouble was, Louis found 
four French fishermen in a char-d-bancs — all in peas- 
ant blouses. The major-domo of the fashionable 
hotel was trying to keep them out, but when Louis 
appeared he called out their names joyfully, and 
they all cried: "Mon cher Louis!" After each had 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BAKBARA 321 

embraced him, he asked them up to his rooms, and, 
despite the ill-concealed scorn of the waiter, ordered 
up a grand dinner for them. They were the French 
fishermen he had known at Monterey, California, 
and one may be sure that they met with as cordial 
a welcome from his wife as from himself. I know 
that in one of her letters she urges him not to forget 
to write to Frangois the baker, at Monterey, saying: 
"It seems to me much more necessary to write some 
word to him than to Sir Walter, or Baxter, or Hen- 
ley, for they are your friends who know you and will 
not be disappointed, either in a pleasure or in human- 
ity, as this poor baker will be. Indeed you must 
write and say something to him." 

As has been said, her dislike of deceit and treachery 
was one of the most strongly marked traits in her 
character. Once when she had reason to fear that 
a person whom she was befriending was deceiving 
her, and she was told that a simple inquiry would 
settle the matter, she replied: "But I couldn't bear 
to find out that he is lying to me." 

Her charities were many, but they were always of 
the quiet, unobtrusive sort, of which few heard ex- 
cept those most nearly concerned. For instance, 
when she heard of a poor woman in her neighbourhood 
whose life could only be saved by an expensive opera- 
tion, she paid to have it done. Her life was full of 
such acts, and there are many, many people who 
have good reason to be grateful to her memory. 

But when all is said, it has always seemed to me 
that the bright star of her character, shining above 
all other traits, was her loyalty — that staunch fidelity 



322 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

that made her cHng, through thick and thin, through 
good or evil report, to those whom she loved. But 
as she loved, so she hated, and as she endowed her 
friends with all the virtues, so she could see no good 
at all in an enemy. Yet, just when you thought you 
were beginning to understand her nature — with its 
love and hate of the primal woman — ^her anger would 
suddenly soften, not into tenderness, but into a sort 
of dispassionate wisdom, and she would quote her 
favourite saying: "To know all is to forgive all." 

That she had infinite tenderness for the feelings of 
others, living or dead, she proved every day. In a 
letter to Mr. Scribner asking advice about the pub- 
lication in London of certain letters of her husband, 
she says: 

"Some of the letters that are intended to go into the 
book should not, in my judgment, appear at all. 
When my husband was a boy in his late ' teens ' and 
early twenties he and his father — a rigid old Calvinist 
— quarrelled on the subject of religion. Louis being 
young enough to like the melodrama, it took on an 
undue importance, out of all keeping with the real 
facts. During this turbulent period Louis poured out 
his soul in letters, the publication of many of which 
would give a false impression of the relations between 
the son and the father. Louis was twenty-five when 
I first met him, and the period of the religious discus- 
sion was long past. Mr. Thomas Stevenson loved 
me and was as kind to me as though I were his own 
daughter. I cannot, for the sake of an extra volume 
that would produce a certain amount of money, do 
anything that in my heart would seem disloyal to 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 323 

the dear old man's memory — all the more because he 
is dead." 

In her character there were many strange contra- 
dictions, and I think sometimes this was a part of 
her attraction, for even after knowing her for years 
one could always count on some surprise, some un- 
expected contrast which went far in making up her 
fascinating personality. Notwithstanding the broad 
view that she took of life in most of its aspects, in 
some things she was old-fashioned. She was never 
reconciled, for instance, to female suffrage, and once 
when she was persuaded to attend a political meeting 
at which her daughter was one of the speakers, she 
sat looking on with mingled pride in her daughter's 
eloquence and horror at her sentiments. Yet, after 
the suffrage was granted to women in California, her 
family was amused to see her go to the polls and vote 
and carefully advise the men employed on her place 
concerning their ballots. 

Some persons were repelled by what they consid- 
ered Mrs. Stevenson's cold and distant manner, but 
they were not aware of what it took her own family 
a long time to discover — that this apparent detach- 
ment and sphinxlike immobility covered a real and 
childlike shyness; yet it was never apathy, but the 
stillness of a frightened wild creature that has never 
been tamed. Though she said so little, she never 
failed to create an impression. Some one once said 
of her that her silence was more fascinating than the 
most brilliant conversation of other women, and, in- 
deed, "Where Macgregor sits is the head of the table'* 
applied very aptly to her. Her manner had nothing 



324 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

of the aggressive self-confidence of the "capable 
woman," She seemed so essentially feminine, low- 
voiced, quiet, even helplessly appealing, that it was 
diflScult to realize that she was a fair shot, a fearless 
horsewoman, a first-rate cook, an expert seamstress, 
a really scientific gardener, a most skillful nurse, and 
had, besides, some working acquaintance with many 
trades and professions upon which she could draw in 
an emergency. 

Her physical courage was remarkable; she would 
get on any horse, jump into a boat in any sea, face a 
burglar — do anything, in fact, that circumstances 
seemed to require. But perhaps her moral courage, 
that which gave her strength to face great crises — as 
when Louis was near death — with a smile on her face, 
was even greater. This I know came to her as a 
direct inheritance from our mother, Esther Van de 
Grift, who was never known to give way under the 
stress of great need. 

In her fondness for animals she reminds one of her 
maternal ancestress, Elizabeth Knodle, who used to 
rush out and seize horses by the bridle when she 
thought they were being driven too fast by their 
cruel drivers. Nothing would more surely arouse 
her anger than the sight of any unkindness to one of 
these "little brothers." Once at Vailima a gentle- 
man, who ought to have known better, came riding 
up on a horse that showed signs of being in pain. 
"That horse has a sore back," she cried. The rider 
angrily denied it, but she insisted on his dismounting, 
and when the saddle was removed found that her 
suspicions were but too well founded. She compelled 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 325 

him to leave the suffering creature in her care until 
its back was entirely cured. 

I have been surprised sometimes to hear people 
speak of her as "bohemian." Simplicity and genu- 
ineness were the foundation-stones of her character, 
and she certainly dispensed with many of the useless 
conventions of society, but she was a serious-minded 
woman for whom the cheap affectations generally 
labelled as "bohemianism" could have no attractions. 

She was entirely feminine in her love of pretty 
clothes. In choosing her own attire, though she fol- 
lowed the fashions and never tried to be extravagant 
or outre, she had a discriminating taste that made 
her always seem to be dressed more attractively than 
other people. All who think of her, even in her last 
days, must have a picture in their minds of the 
dainty, lacy, silken prettiness in which she sat en- 
shrined. 

She was pretty as a young woman, but as she grew 
older she was beautiful — with that rare type of beauty 
that "age cannot wither nor custom stale." With 
her clear-cut profile, like an exquisite cameo, color 
like old ivory, delicate oval face, eyes dark, vivid, and 
youthful, her appearance was most unusual. Louis 
used to say of her eyes that her glance was like that 
of one aiming a pistol — direct, steady, and to some 
persons rather alarming. Her voice, as I think I have 
said somewhere else in these pages, was low, with few 
inflections, and was compared by her husband to the 
murmur of a brook running under ice. The poet 
Gosse said of her: "She is dark and rich-hearted, like 
some wonderful wine-red jewel." 



S26 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

For years she had worn her hair short, not in the 
fashion of a strong-minded female, but in a frame of 
soft grey curls which was exceedingly becoming to 
her face. 

Everywhere she went her appearance attracted 
attention. One evening at Santa Barbara when 
David Bispham was giving a concert, she sat in a 
box at the theatre, wearing a bandeau of pearls and 
diamonds round her head and a collar and necklace 
of the same. Leaning over the edge of the box, 
deeply interested in the singing, she didn't realize 
the impression she was making or the fact that Bis- 
pham was singing "Oh, the pretty, pretty creature" 
directly at her box. Suddenly she became aware of 
his compliment, gave a startled, embarrassed look at 
the audience, and retired behind her big ostrich- 
feather fan. People often turned to look at her in 
the street, and at such times she would say to her 
companions: "Is there anything wrong with my hat? 
The people all seem to be smiling at me." They 
were, but it was with surprised admiration. Sales- 
women and shop-girls adored her, and at all the shops 
they vied with each other in waiting on her. On the 
way home she would say, with naive surprise: "How 
nice all those young women were ! There were five 
of them all waiting on me at once." 

One of her vanities was her small feet, on which 
she always wore the daintiest of shoes, often totally 
unsuited to the occasion. Whenever I looked at her 
feet I was reminded of our maternal grandmother, 
sweet Kitty Weaver, and how she caught her death 
going to a ball in the red satin slippers. 

Her beauty was of the elusive type that is the 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 327 

despair of artists, and of all the portraits painted of 
her none seemed to me to represent her true self. I 
quote from The Craftsman of May, 1912, a reference 
to a reproduction of the portrait painted of her by 
Mrs. Will Low: 

"We are sure that our readers the world over will 
enjoy the opportunity of this glimpse of Mrs. Steven- 
son, however the limitations imposed by black and 
white may prevent a full realization of the great 
charm of this unusual woman, whose personality is 
so magnetic, so serene in its poise, so richly intellec- 
tual, that those who have had the opportunity of 
knowing her always remember her as one of the most 
interesting and beautiful among women." 

She kept her spirit young to the last, so that no 
one could ever think of her as an old woman, and 
young people always enjoyed her company. 

As to her literary accomplishments, had she chosen 
to devote her time and strength to the development 
of her own talents, instead of using them, as has been 
the wont of women since the world began, in the sup- 
port and encouragement of others, there is no saying 
how far she might have gone, for she had an active, 
creative imagination, and a discriminating, critical 
judgment of style. As it was, her writings were not 
extensive, and were almost all produced under the 
spur of some particular need. They consist of: 

Several fairy stories published years ago in Our 
Young Folks and *S^. Nicholas, magazines for young 
people. 

The Dynamiter, written in collaboration with her 
husband. 

Introductions to her husband's works. 



328 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

A number of short stories in Scribner^s and Mc- 
Clure's magazines, among which "Anne" and "The 
Half -White" attracted the most attention. 

The Cruise of the Janet Nichol, a posthumous work. 

Her own estimate of her talents and achievements 
was extremely modest, and it was always with the 
greatest reluctance that she put pen to paper. Yet 
she was intensely proud of the work of any member 
of her family — whether it might be sister, daughter, 
son, nephew, or grandson — and seemed to get more 
happiness out of anything we did than from her own 
work. 

She was appalled at the great flood of mediocre 
writing that has been pouring over the United States 
in the last decade or two, and speaks of it thus in a 
letter written to Mr. Scribner from her quiet haven 
at Sausal: 

"If I had a magazine of my own I should bar from 
its pages any story in which a young woman urges a 
young man to 'do things' when he doesn't have to. 
There would also be a list of words and phrases that 
I would not have within my covers. But, if I had a 
magazine what would become of my peace and quiet 
that I care so much for? No — no such strenuous 
life for me ! They may call houses 'homes' and spell 
words so that children and foreigners must be unable 
to find out how to pronounce them — I need not know 
of such annoyances in El Sausal unless I choose. I 
have before me a great pile of magazines — hence 
these cries. I read them with wonder and interest. 
There seems to be such an extraordinary quantity of 
clever, talented, ignorant, unliterary literature let 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 329 

loose in them. Where does it all come from? And 
why isn't it better done — or worse done? I suppose 
we might call it 'near literature.' Sometimes, indeed, 
it is very near. I suppose it is the public school sys- 
tem that is accountable. Well, I never believed in 
general education, and here's a justification of my 
attitude." 

When one casts a backward glance over the life of 
Fanny Van de Grift Stevenson, it cannot be said that 
she knew much of that for which she had always 
longed — peace. Her girlhood was cut short by a 
too early marriage. Her first romance was soon 
wrecked, and her second was constantly overshad- 
owed by fear for the loved one. Storm and stress, 
varied by some peaceful intervals, filled the larger 
portion of her days, and at their end it was in storm 
and flood that her spirit took its flight. But it was 
a full, rich life, and had she had the choosing, I believe 
she would have elected no other. 

After something more than a year had elapsed 
from the time of her death, Mrs. Stevenson's daughter, 
who had now become the wife of Mr. Field, sailed 
with her husband in the spring of 1915 for Samoa, 
bearing with them the sacred ashes to be placed 
within the tomb on Mount Vaea. 

Early in the war the New Zealand Expeditionary 
Forces had taken possession of German Samoa, so 
that when Mr. and Mrs. Field arrived they found the 
Union Jack flying over Vailima, now used as Govern- 
ment House by the Administrator, Colonel Logan, 
and his stafiF. The natives, interested spectators of 



330 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

these stirring events, remarked among themselves 
that Tusitala, not going back to his own country, 
had drawn his country out to him. 

Two friends of the old Vailima days were a great 
help in making the arrangements for the funeral — 
Amatua, often referred to in the Stevenson letters as 
Sitione, now a serious elderly chief, and Laulii, a 
charming Samoan lady of rank, and a warm and 
attached friend of the Stevenson family. Of the 
Vailima household time and wars had eliminated all 
but the youngest — Mitaele, who looked much the 
same in spite of grey hair and a family of nine children. 

It was Amatua who saw to it that those who re- 
mained of the builders of the "Road of the Loving 
Hearts" and the chiefs who had cut the path up the 
mountain for Tusitala's funeral were included in the 
list of guests, and it was he who took personal charge 
of all the arrangements for the native ceremonies, 
which were conducted in the elaborate Samoan 
fashion as for a chief of the highest rank. 

Colonel and Mrs. Logan very graciously invited 
the Fields to Vailima and placed the house and 
grounds at their disposal. 

"It is strange," wrote Mrs. Field, "being here at 
Vailima. I was so afraid to come, but mercifully it 
is not the same. Rooms have been added, the pol- 
ished redwood panels in the large hall are painted 
over in white; the lawn where the tennis courts were 
is cut up into flower beds; many of the great trees 
have gone; and the atmosphere of the place has 
changed so utterly that I have to say to myself ' This 
is Vailima' to believe that I am here after so many 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 331 

years. Mrs. Logan and the Governor came out to 
meet us when we arrived, and as we turned into the 
road and I saw the house for the first time it was the 
Union Jack flying from the flag-staff that affected 
me most. I felt like a person in a dream as we walked 
over the house — the same and yet changed out of all 
recognition. We had tea, and then in the soft sunset 
we went down to the waterfall, no longer a fairy dell 
of loveliness but improved with a dam, cement floor- 
ing, and a row of neat bathrooms. In the evening 
we sat on the upper veranda looking out over the 
moonlit tree- tops; the scene was very beautiful, with 
the view of the sea and Vaea mountain so green and 
so close. 'Here we wrote St. Ives and Hermiston,* I 
tell myself, but I don't believe it." 

It had been their intention to have their old mis- 
sionary friend. Dr. Brown, conduct the services, but 
at the last moment word was brought that he was 
detained on one of the other islands by storms. 
For a time they were much troubled, but at last 
Colonel Logan lifted a load off their hearts by offer- 
ing to read the Church of England service himself. 

The day before that set for the funeral, June 22, it 
blew and rained, and there was much anxious fore- 
boding about the weather. In the night, however, 
the wind blew away the clouds and rain, and morning 
broke, still, sunny, but cool — a perfect day. 

The small bronze case containing the ashes, wrapped 
in a fine mat, had been laid on a table in one of the 
rooms that had wide doors opening on the veranda. 
The guests began to arrive early, in Samoan fashion, 
bringing flowers and wreaths, and soon the table was 



332 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

a mass of lovely blooms — all colours, for the Samoans 
do not adhere to white for funerals. The high chief 
Tamasese, with his wife Vaaiga, both wearing mourn- 
ing bands on their arms, were the first to arrive. 
Then came Malietoa Tanu, who was a prominent 
figure in the war in which the United States and Eng- 
land joined to fight against Samoa. Following them 
came a long concourse of the old friends of Mr. and 
Mrs. Stevenson — natives, half-castes, and whites, and 
last of all, in a little carriage, three sweet sisters from 
the Sacred Heart Convent. The sisters could not 
stay for the ceremony on the hill, but begged to be 
allowed to say a little prayer, and the three knelt 
before the table and said an ave for one who had 
always been their friend. 

At nine o'clock they started on the steep climb up 
the mountain, the path having been cleared the day 
before by men sent up through the thoughtful kind- 
ness of the Administrator. Mr. Field led the way 
with the casket wrapped in a fine mat, then came 
Mrs. Field and Laulii, each carrying one of the mats 
used in Samoan funeral ceremonies, these being the 
same that had been carried at Mr. Stevenson's burial. 

After them came Colonel Logan and the two high 
chiefs, Tamasese and Malietoa, followed by all the 
other guests, including forty chiefs of the Tuamasaga. 
The procession, very picturesque in white clothing 
and wreaths of flowers, wound slowly up the moun- 
tainside in a zigzag path under the forest trees. 
Overhead the branches met in a leafy roof, and on 
each side of the narrow path the jungle closed in, 
thick, lush, and green. The lianas looped across 




The funeral procession as it wound up tho iiill 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 333 

from bough to bough, huge birds' nest ferns lay tucked 
in the branches, on all sides big-leaved plants, fronds 
of ferns, and tangled creepers crowded each other for 
space, and through all the mass of wild tropic growth 
the hot sunlight filtered in splashes of bright green. 

When, after many breathless pauses, the top was 
at last reached, the case was laid on the base of the 
tomb and covered with fine mats, with flowers all 
about it. Among them were the Japanese imitation 
cherry-blossoms sent by Yonida and Fuzisaki, the 
gardeners at Stonehedge. The company then gath- 
ered around the tomb in a semicircle, and Colonel 
Logan read the Church of England service. It was 
an impressive ceremony, and the hearts of all were 
deeply moved by it. Filemoni, the Samoan pastor, 
followed with an eloquent speech in the native lan- 
guage. 

The mats were then removed from the small space 
that had been cut into the base of the tomb, and the 
little case was fitted in and cemented over. George 
Stowers, the original builder of the tomb, was there, 
and his hand sealed the ashes in their last resting- 
place. 

The ceremony now being over, the party went 
down the hill in little groups, resting by the way on 
fallen logs. Crossing the river at the bottom, they 
came into the Loto Alofa Road (Road of the Loving 
Hearts), where Amatua had made all the preparations 
for the funeral feast, which was to be given according 
to Samoan custom. A long table-cloth, consisting of 
bright-green breadfruit and banana leaves and ferns, 
stretched along the ground for sixty feet or more. 



334 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

The feast was preceded by the ceremonious drinking 
of kava and speeches in Samoan. "I had expected 
the usual somewhat flowery eulogies," wrote Mrs. 
Field, "but their speeches were sincere and some of 
them very beautiful. They were translated by an 
interpreter, but fortunately my memory of the lan- 
guage helped me to follow the meaning, even though 
some of the 'high chief expressions were beyond me. 
'Many foreigners had visited Samoa,' they said, 'but 
of all who had professed affection and admiration for 
the land only one loved it so well that he chose it for 
his last resting-place. Tusitala had been the true 
friend, the dearly loved, the deeply mourned, and now 
when the wife of his heart had joined him after many 
lonely years the occasion was one too tender and too 
beautiful for sorrow.' They assured me that we 
might leave Samoa with peaceful hearts, knowing 
that those we loved were in the land — not of strangers, 
but of devoted friends, who would cherish the tomb 
on Vaea as they cherished in their hearts the memory 
of Tusitala and Aolele." 

Amatua then announced that the feast was ready, 
and the Governor and his wife were seated at the 
head at one end of the long table, with Tamasese and 
Malietoa Tanu on either side. The board, figura- 
tively speaking, groaned under a great spread of 
native delicacies. It was full noon by this time, and 
very hot, but Amatua had thoughtfully placed little 
trees all along the side to keep off the sunshine. "At 
the end of the feast," says Mrs. Field, "I made a 
little speech of thanks, and it came straight from my 
heart, for I was deeply touched by the kindness of 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 335 

them all and their loyalty to the memory of my dear 
mother and Tusitala. We tried to thank Colonel 
Logan and his wife, but words can never do that." 

"Nothing more picturesque can be imagined than 
the narrow plateau that forms the summit of Mount 
Vaea, a place no wider than a room and as flat as a 
table. On either side the land descends precipitately ; 
in front lie the vast ocean and the surf-swept reefs; 
in the distance to the right and left green mountains 
rise, densely covered with the primeval forest."* 

Stevenson's tomb, with the tablet and lettering, 
was designed by Gelett Burgess, and was built by 
native workmen under the direction of a half-caste 
named George Stowers. The material was cement, 
run into boxes and formed into large blocks, which 
were then carried to the summit on the strong shoul- 
ders of Samoans, though each block was so heavy 
that two white men could scarcely lift it from the 
ground. Arrived at the summit the blocks were then 
welded into a plain and dignified design, with two 
large bronze tablets let in on either side. One bears 
the inscription in Samoan, "The resting-place of 
Tusitala," followed by the quotation in the same 
language of "Thy country shall be my country and 
thy God my God." The other side bears the name 
and dates and the requiem: 

"Under the wide and starry sky. 
Dig the grave and let me lie. 
Glad did I live and gladly die, 
And I laid me down with a will. 

* Lloyd Osbourne, In A Letter to His Friends, written directly after 
the death of Mr. Stevenson. 



336 LIFE OF MRS. R. L. STEVENSON 

This be the verse you grave for me: 
Here he Hes where he longed to be; 
Home is the sailor, home from the sea, ' 
And the hunter home from the hill." 

When Mr. and Mrs. Field arrived in Samoa they 
brought with them a tablet which they carried to the 
summit of Mount Vaea and had cemented in one end 
of the base of the tomb. It is of heavy bronze, and 
bears the name Aolele, together with these lines: 

"Teacher, tender comrade, wife, 
A fellow-farer true through life, 
Heart whole and soul free. 
The August Father gave to me." 

On the tablet for Mr. Stevenson the thistle for 
Scotland had been carved at one corner and the 
hibiscus for Samoa at the other. On his wife's the 
hibiscus was placed at one corner, and after long hesi- 
tation about the other, a sudden inspiration suggested 
to Mrs. Field the tiger-lily — bright flower whose 
name had been given to little Fanny Van de Grift 
by her mother in the old days in Indiana. 

Before leaving the island Mr. and Mrs. Field en- 
dowed a scholarship for three little girls at the con- 
vent school — one to be chosen by the sisters, one by 
Tamasese, and one by Mitaele, the last of the Vailima 
household. All they asked was that these little girls 
should go to the tomb on the 10th of every March, 
the birthday of Aolele, and decorate the grave. That 
they kept their promise is shown by the following 
quotation from the Samoan Times: 

"On Friday morning, the 10th instant, the three 



LAST DAYS AT SANTA BARBARA 337 

pupils of the convent school, Savalalo, whose scholar- 
ships were endowed by Mr. and Mrs. Salisbury Field 
in memory of the late Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson, 
the mother of Mrs. Field, paid a visit to the Stevenson 
tomb on Mount Vaea in honor of the anniversary of 
the birthday of the deceased lady. The little party 
left at 7 A. M. and arrived at the summit of the hill 
at about nine o'clock. Upon arrival at the top of 
the hill the children lost no time in decorating the 
grave with wreaths of flowers and greenery, a plentiful 
supply of which was taken by them. After the deco- 
rating the party sat down to a small taumafataga 
(high chief lunch), after which they returned to 
town." 

Tiger-lily and Scotch thistle — they sleep together 
under tropic stars, far from the fields of waving corn 
and the purple moorlands, but each year hands, alien 
to them both, tenderly lay flowers on their tomb. 



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